UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


- 


NORMAN   LESLIE. 


A  TALE    OF   THE    PRESENT  TIMES. 


You  shall  see  anon  ;  'tis  a  knavish  piece  of  work." 

Hamlet. 


IN     TWO      VOLUMES. 

VOL.  I. 


NEW-YORK : 
PUBLISHED   BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

NO.     82      C  L  IFF-  STRE  K  T. 

1835. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1835, 

By  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


PS 


F3-*. 

v./ 
COLONEL  HERMAN  THORN. 


MY  DEAR  SIR, 

The  warm  hospitality  and  generous  attention  which,. 
during  my  ramblings  in  Europe,  in  common  with  many 
of  my  countrymen,  I  have  received  from  you  ;  the  nu- 
merous instances  which  have  come  to  my  knowledge  of 
the  benevolence  and  kindness  of  your  heart  ;  your  liberal 
encouragement  of  the  arts  ;  and  the  high  estimation  in 
which  you  are  held  abroad,  induce  me  to  offer  you  this 
simple  tribute  of  regard  and  friendship. 

Permit  me,  therefore,  to  dedicate  to  you  the  following 
pages,  with  only  a  regret  that  they  are  not  more  worthy* 
I  am,  my  dear  sir, 

very  sincerely  and  respectfully, 
your  obedient  servant, 

THE  ADTHOR. 

farts,  March  26th,  1835. 


- 


465372 

English  Dept 


PREFACE. 


THE  most  improbable  features  of  the  following 
story,  viz.  the  leading  incident  and  the  career  of 
Clairmont,  are  founded  on  fact.  The  author  has 
availed  himself  of  the  license  allotted  to  writers  of 
fiction,  and  transformed  character  at  pleasure, 
particularly  that  of  the  young  lady  on  whose  most 
mysterious  fate  the  story  is  founded.  Neither  has 
he  bound  himself  to  a  delineation  of  society  as  it 
existed  at  the  period  of  the  real  occurrence,  which 
took  place  many  years  since  in  New-York ;  yet 
he  does  not  profess  to  have  grasped  the  more  noble 
materials  which  the  higher  circles  of  his  country  at 
this  moment  offer  to  the  novelist,  but  has  rather 
sketched,  perhaps  with  a  somewhat  mischievous 
hand,  certain  peculiarities  adapted  to  his  purpose. 
He  frankly  bespeaks  the  indulgence  of  all  the 
sapient  and  solemn  critics. 

The  art  of  novel- writing,  however  long  associated 
with  heart-broken  boarding-school  girls,  and  sen- 
timental chambermaids,  is  now  as  dignified  as  that 
of  Canova,  Mozart,  or  Raphael.  In  learning  to 
arrange  a  succession  of  heavenly  sounds,  to  imbody 
sweet  shapes  in  marble,  to  breathe  fervid  beauty 
on  the  easel,  how  many  an  inspired  genius  has 


10  PREFACE. 

devoted  all  his  hours.  Is  it  not  as  exalted  a  study 
to  copy  from  the  great  world  those  "infinite  doings" 
of  the  mind  and  heart  which  make  up  the  material 
of  human  existence? 

That  the  writer  has  succeeded  in  accomplishing 
this,  he  dares  not  hope.  As  an  humble  student,  and 
peradventure  with  a  feeble  hand,  he  has  thrown 
his  groupings  upon  the  canvass,  and  now,  like  the 
boy-painter  in  the  "  Disowned,"  stands  concealed 
behind  the  curtain,  to  hear,  perhaps,  some  erudite 
Sir  Joshua  say — "  He  had  better  burn  it !" 

Paris,  March  26,  1835. 


NORMAN    LESLIE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

An  American  City — New-York  Winter — Sleighing — Certain 
Characters  whom  the  Reader  will  do  well  to  remember — An 
Incident,  which  perhaps  he  will  forget  before  the  end  of  the 
book. 


"  'Twas  in  the  flush  of  the  summer's  prime, 

Two  hundred  years  ago, 
When  a  ship  into  an  unknown  bay 
Came  eliding — soft  and  slow. 

******* 

All  was  still,  on  river  and  hill, 

At  the  dawn  of  that  summer's  day ; 

There  was  not  a  sound,  save  the  ripple  around 
The  ship,  as  she  cut  her  way. 

Then  the  sails  flapp'd  hack,  for  the  wind  was  slack, 

And  the  vessel  lay  sleeping  there ; 
And  even  the  Dutchmen  exclaimed, '  Mein  Got !' 

As  they  gazed  on  a  scene  so  fair." 

A  Vision  of  the  Hudson  :  by  William  Cox. 

A  BRILLIANT  January  morning  broke  over  the 
beautiful  city  of  New- York.  Her  two  magnificent 
rivers  came  sweeping  and  sparkling  down  into  her 
immense  bay,  which,  bound  in  like  a  lake  on  every 
side  with  circling  shores,  rolled  and  flashed  in  the 
unclouded  sunshine.  The  town  itself  rose  directly 


12  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

from  the  bosom  of  the  flood,  presenting  a  scene  of 
singular  splendour,  which,  when  the  western  con- 
tinent shall  be  better  known  to  European  tourists, 
j  will  be  acknowledged  to  lose  nothing  by  comparison 
/  with  the  picturesque  views  of  Florence  or  Naples. 
/  Her  tapering  spires,  her  domes,  cupolas,  and  house- 
|  tops,  her  forest  of  crowded  masts,  lay  bristling  and 
shining  in  the  transparent  atmosphere,  and  beneath 
a  heaven  of  deep  and  unstained  blue.  The  lovely 
waters  which  washed  three  sides  of  the  city  were 
covered  with  ships  of  all  forms,  sizes,  and  nations; 
delighting  the  eye  with  images  of  grace,  animation, 
and  grandeur.  Huge  vessels  of  merchandise  lay 
at  rest,  in  large  numbers,  all  regularly  swayed 
round  from  their  anchors  into  a  uniform  position 
by  the  heavy  tide  setting  from  the  rivers  to  the 
sea.  Others,  leaning  to  the  wind,  their  swollen 
and  snowy  canvass  broadly  spread  for  their  flight 
over  the  vast  ocean,  bounded  forward,  like  youth, 
bright  and  confident  against  the  future.  Some, 
entering  sea-beaten  and  weary  from  remote  parts 
of  the  globe,  might  be  likened,  by  the  contemplative, 
to  age  and  wisdom,  pitying  their  bold  compeers 
about  to  encounter  the  roar  and  storm  from  which 
they  themselves  were  so  glad  to  escape  :  and  yet, 
to  carry  the  simile  further,  even  as  the  human  mind, 
which  experience  does  not  always  enlighten  or 
adversity  subdue,  ready,  after  a  brief  interval  of 
idleness  and  repose,  to  forget  the  past,  and  refit 
themselves  for  enterprise  and  danger.  Hundreds, 
whose  less  perilous  duties  lay  within  the  gates  of 
the  immense  harbour,  plied  to  and  fro  in  every 
direction,  crossing  and  recrossing  each  other,  and 
enlivening  with  delightful  animation  the  broad  and 
busy  scene.  Of  these  small  craft,  indeed,  the 
waves  were  for  ever  whitened  with  an  incredible 
number,  in  the  midst  of  which  thundered  heavily 
the  splendid  and  enormous  steamers,  beautifully 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  13 

formed  to  shoot  through  the  flood  with  arrowy 
swiftness,  their  clean  bright  colours  shining  in  the 
sun,  bearing  sometimes  a  thousand  persons  on 
excursions  of  business  and  pleasure,  spouting  forth 
fire  and  steam  like  monstrous  dragons,  and  leaving 
long  tracks  of  smoke  on  the  blue  heaven.  Among 
other  evidences  of  a  great  maritime  power,  reposed 
several  giant  vessels  of  war, — those  stern,  tremen- 
dous messengers  of  the  deep,  wafting,  on  the  wings 
of  heaven,  the  thunderbolt  of  death  across  the 
solemn  world  of  waters ;  but  now  lying,  like  for- 
tresses, motionless  on  the  tide,  and  ready  to  bear 
over  the  globe  the  friendly  pledges  or  the  grave 
demands  of  a  nation  which,  in  the  recollection  of 
some  of  its  surviving  citizens,  was  a  submissive 
colony,  without  power  and  without  a  name.  You 
might  deem  the  magnificent  city,  that  lay  thus 
extended  upon  the  flood,  Venice,  when  that  won- 
derful republic  held  the  commerce  of  the  world. 
In  a  greater  degree,  indeed,  than  London,  notwith- 
standing the  superior  amount  of  shipping  possessed 
by  the  latter,  New- York  at  first  strikes  the  stranger 
entering  into  its  harbour  with  signs  of  commercial 
prosperity  and  wealth.  In  the  mighty  British 
metropolis,  the  vessels  lie  locked  in  dockyards,  or 
half-buried  under  fog  and  smoke.  The  narrow 
Thames  presents  little  more  than  that  portion  actu- 
ally in  motion ;  and,  in  a  sail  from  Margate  to  town, 
the  vast  number  are  seen  only  in  succession  :  but 
here,  the  whole  crowded,  broad,  and  moving  pano- 
rama breaks  at  once  upon  the  eye  ;  and  through  a 
perfectly  pure  and  bright  atmosphere  nothing  can 
be  more  striking  and  exquisite. 

It  was  a  frosty  winter  morning,  and  the  general 
splendour  of  the  scene  was  heightened  by  the  fact 
that,  for  some  days  previous,  a  heavy  fall  of  snow 
had  come  down  silently  and  thickly  from  heaven, 
without  wind  and  without  rain.  The  whole  pic- 

VOL.  I. — B 


14  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

ture  was  now  glittering  with  tracts  of  stainless 
white.  The  roofs  were  hidden  beneath  fleecy 
masses.  The  trees  were  cased  with  brilliant  lustre, 
and  held  out  their  naked  branches  sparkling  in  the 
sun.  The  shores,  sloping  down  to  the  water's  edge, 
leaned  brightly  to  the  beams  of  morning.  Even 
the  waves  themselves  bore  on  their  bosoms,  urged 
gently  along,  and  dashed  ever  and  anon  against 
each  other,  thick  cakes  of  snow-covered  ice,  which 
had  drifted  down  from  the  rivers,  but  yet  not  in 
sufficient  quantities  to  interrupt  the  navigation. 
The  roar  and  thunder  of  the  town  could  be  heard 
from  the  bay,  as  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  her 
citizens  awoke  to  their  accustomed  occupations. 
The  shouts  of  artisans  and  tradesman,  the  clink  of 
hammers  from  the  thronged  and  busy  wharves  and 
shipyards,  the  inspiring  "  heave-yoes"  with  which 
the  brawny  tars  cheered  their  labours  amid  the 
mass  of  shipping  (itself  a  city),  the  clanging  of 
hoofs,  the  shuffling  of  feet,  the  ringing  of  bells,  the 
clash  of  voices,  and  all  the  medley  of  sounds  pecu- 
liar to  the  newly  awakened  concourse  of  a  vast  and 
growing  population,  rose  cheerfully  on  the  air. 
Wherever  the  eye  wandered,  it  met  only  scenes  of 
bustle,  haste,  gayety,  and  earnest  occupation. 

But  if  the  exterior  of  the  city  presented  so  lively 
a  .picture,  the  interior  was  yet  more  inspiriting. 
Broadway,  the  principal  street,  was  now  the  centre 
of  one  of  those  gay  and  giddy  scenes  known  only 
to  the  inhabitants  of  cold  countries,  and  which  to 
many  offer  greater  attractions  than  the  odoriferous 
vales  and  plains  of  Italy  or  Asia.  True,  those 
romantic  climes  where  the  human  race  enjoy  a 
temperature  so  wild  and  pleasant  as  to  permit  of 
their  almost  dwelling  in  the  open  air  even  in  the 
coldest  season,  have,  in  their  softer  charms,  some- 
thing unspeakably  sweet  and  alluring.  Those 
luscious  ever-green  valleys,  those  luxuriant  hills, 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  15 

those  rich  slopes,  clothed  with  the  most  gorgeous 
fruits  and  the  tenderest  and  deepest  verdure,  and, 
more  than  all,  those  gentle  and  transparent  skies, 
seem  beneficently  designed  for  man  in  his  more 
uncivilized  state,  or  for  the  poor.  It  must  be 
delightful  for  the  penniless,  the  aged,  and  the  house- 
less, unable  to  procure  clothing  or  fuel,  to  find  the 
dawn  ever  diffusing  a  genial  and  balmy  warmth 
over  nature.  The  tenant  of  the  rude  and  scantily 
furnished  hut  flings  open  his  window  and  admits 
the  fragrant  sweets.  Mere  day  is  to  them  a  gift 
and  a  blessing  ;  the  sun  is  their  cloak  and  their  fire. 
Those  old  Italian  landscapes,  with  the  warm  yellow 
light  gleaming  deliciously  in  through  an  open  case- 
ment, are  finely  characteristic.  But  are  we  not 
apt  to  magnify  the  advantages  of  this  universal 
and  perpetual  blandness  of  heaven  ?  True,  the  half- 
clad  fisherman  flings  himself  carelessly  down,  and 
sleeps  upon  the  beach  ;  the  beggar  lies  stretched 
against  a  sunny  wall,  drying  the  night-dews  from 
his  tattered  garments,  and  partaking  in  peace  the 
slumbers  which  he  could  not  enjoy  beneath  the  less 
benignant  influence  of  the  stars  ;  the  wrinkled  and 
time-stricken  dames,  "  the  spinsters  and  the  knitters 
in  the  sun,"  bring  their  work  in  front  of  their  cot- 
tages, and,  to  see  them,  the  pilgrim  from  a  northern 
clime  fancies  them  happy  as  the  children  of  Eden. 
But  I  doubt  whether  the  vigorous  and  enlivening 
joys  of  winter  are  not  more  conducive  to  health 
and  happiness.  An  Italian  vale,  breathing  its 
sweetest  odours,  and  sparkling  under  its  pleasantest 
sunshine,  is  but  a  dull  picture  compared  with 
Broadway  on  the  bright  morning  after  a  heavy 
fall  of  snow.  No  scene  can  be  more  full  of  life 
and  action.  Every  thing  appears  in  a  whirl  of 
delight.  A  spirit  of  joy  and  impulse  hangs  in  the 
air,  pervades  all  the  city,  and  pours  its  fires  through 
the  veins  of  every  living  creature.  The  exhilarating 


16  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

atmosphere  braces  the  limbs,  quickens  the  step, 
flushes  the  cheek,  fills  the  eye  with  lustre,  puts  aside 
care,  thought,  and  dulness,  and  produces  a  high 
state  of  animal  enjoyment.  Those  old  snow-storms 
have  unfortunately  of  later  years  made  their 
merry  visits  less  frequently.  The  fleecy  world 
now  descends  in  smaller  quantities,  and  disappears 
in  a  shorter  period.  I  can  fancy  the  rising  gene- 
ration smiling  when  we,  of  the  old  school,  lament 
the  forms  and  fashions  of  the  last  century.  The 
young  rogues,  peradventure,  may  be  amused  by 
wondering  what  value  we  can  attach  to  a  powdered 
queue  or  a  platted  wristband  ;  but,  by  this  hand  ! 
when  the  elements  themselves  alter  and  remould 
their  usages — when  seasons  roll  in  different  shapes, 
when  honest  old  Winter,  instead  of  striding  forward, 
as  was  his  wont,  wrapped  in  cloak  and  fur,  his  cheek 
glowing  with  the  cold,  and  the  sparry  icicle  glitter- 
ing around  his  cap  and  beard,  steals  forward  with 
only  a  fashionable  mantle  and  an  umbrella — Heaven 
save  the  mark !  we  may  well  lament.  I  cannot 
write  calmly  of  those  glorious  old  snow-storms. 

One  of  them  had  now  descended  upon  New- York, 
and  the  inhabitants,  as  the  day  advanced,  seemed 
conscious  of  no  other  earthly  object  than  the  enjoy- 
ment of  sleighing.  Countless  throngs  of  the  wealth- 
iest and  most  fashionable  were  gathered  into  that 
broad  and  beautiful  street,  which  extends  three  or 
four  miles  in.  a  line  straight  as  an  arrow,  its  long 
vista  of  elegant  houses  remarkable  for  their  uniform 
aspect  of  affluence  and  comfort,  and  presenting,  in 
their  extreme  neatness,  and,  particularly  in.  the 
beauty  of  their  entrances,  a  striking  contrast  to  the 
street  views  of  Paris,  with  only  two  exceptions, 
and  to  those  of  other  continental  cities  without 
any.  Its  world  of  lovely  women  were  abroad. 
Such  rosy  cheeks,  such  melting  eyes  as  passed  up 
and  down,  that  dazzling  day  !  Hundreds  of  sleighs, 
drawn  sometimes  by  one  horse  and  sometimes  by 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  17 

four,  darted  by  each  other  with  the  swiftness  of 
a  bird's  sweep  ;  the  princely  horses,  fired  with  the 
air  and  the  scene,  neighing,  tossing  their  heads, 
champing  their  bits,  and  leaping  on  their  way,  mad 
as  Bucephalus,  every  mother's  son  of  them — the 
bells  around  their  necks  ringing  out  a  music  asmerry 
and  soul-stirring  as  the  blast  of  a  trumpet.  An 
amusement  so  heartily  entered  into  by  the  wealthy 
classes  soon  assumes  an  artificial  hue  of  taste. 
The  choice  of  horses  became  a  matter  of  the 
utmost  ambition,  and  the  sleighs  were  wrought  into 
every  form  devisable  by  an  elegant  or  a  fantastic 
fancy.  Now  swept  by  a  painted  boat,  and  now  a 
classic  chariot :  here  darted  a  pearly  shell,  fit  to 
bear  Venus  over  the  waves ;  and  there,  an  ocean 
car,  from  which  father  Neptune  might  have  appro- 
priately guided  the  dolphins  and  winged  horses  of 
the  sea.  Nowhere  are  there  more  lovely  women 
than  in  those  American  cities.  They  contribute 
largely  to  the  fascination  of  this  exciting  sport  ; 
and  neither  at  the  ball,  nor  the  theatre,  nor  the 
midnight  revel  do  they  appear  more  beautiful  than 
here.  Their  graceful  and  glowing  faces  float  by 
with  a  rapidity  which  prevents  all  criticism,  if  not 
all  comparison.  The  gaze  is  bewildered  with  an 
endless  succession  of  lovely  lips  and  radiant  smiles, 
and  eyes  which  the  young  and  sensitive  of  the 
other  sex,  with  the  fidelity  characteristic  of  ardour 
and  youth,  might  remember  forever,  but  that  each 
succeeding  glance  heals  the  wound  received  from 
the  last.  In  the  midst  of  this  gay  and  noisy  scene, 
the  pedestrians  along  the  spacious  side-walks  found 
their  interest  so  much  excited  by  the  vast  number, 
variety,  and  beauty  of  the  equipages,  and  their 
charming  groups,  that  the  pavements,  in  their  long 
extent,  were  lined  with  animated  spectators — some 
lounging  slowly  onward,  as  if  reluctantly  with- 
drawing from  such  a  pleasing  spectacle,  while  many 
B  2 


18  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

remained  stationary,  watching  each  bright  car  as  it 
went  ringing  and  flashing  by,  and  commenting 
upon  each  passing  company. 

"  See,  Leslie — look  yonder !"  cried  a  fashionably 
dressed  young  man  to  his  companion,  whose  finely 
proportioned  figure  and  extremely  handsome  face 
had  attracted  more  than  one  pair  of  those  mis- 
chievous eyes  we  spoke  of.  "  Do  you  not  see  her  ? 
There — behind  the  yellow  sleigh — in  that  green 
sea-shell,  with  those  superb  horses  !  Do  you  not 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  now  ? — they  have  stopped  to 
address  that  party." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  "  you  are  right.  What  a 
queenly  woman !" 

"  How  she  glows  in  this  bracing  air,  and  seems 
to  exult  in  the  mere  act  of  living !  Her  cheeks 
put  poetry  to  shame  !  I  wish  I  were  a  painter, 
Leslie." 

"  There  are  painters  a  plenty/'  rejoined  Leslie, 
"  who  would  despair  by  the  face  of  Mrs.  Temple. 
You  must  be  a  cunning  artist  indeed  to  catch  that 
smile — that  air — that  expression.  To-day  she  looks 
actually  radiant.  Those  eyes  must  have  made 
hearts  ache  in  their  time." 

"  They  make  mine  ache  yet,"  said  Howard. 

"  Is  not  that  Flora,  with  her  head  turned  away  ?" 

"  'Tis  her  sweet  self!"  replied  Howard,  with  a 
theatrical  enthusiasm. 

The  sleigh  which  they  had  been  observing  now 
swiftly  approached,  and  dashed  by  over  the  hard- 
pressed  snow,  discovering  a  nearer  view  of  a 
gentleman  and  two  ladies :  the  former  a  man  of 
style  and  ton,  though  somewhat  advanced  in  years 
— the  ladies,  an  extremely  fine-looking  woman, 
magnificently  dressed,whose  age  one  might  scarcely 
venture  to  suppose,  so  brilliantly  did  the  charms  of 
youth  and  gayety  linger  around  her  person  ;  the 
other,  a  fair  girl  of  exceeding  beauty — her  rich 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  19 

complexion  heightened  by  air  and  exercise — whose 
bewitching  smile  and  laughing  blue  eyes,  having 
already  intoxicated  half  the  Broadway  exquisites, 
boded  no  good  to  the  susceptibilities  of  our  young 
loungers.  Greetings  were  graciously  interchanged 
as  they  flew  by ;  and  the  two  friends  uncovered  their 
heads,  with  that  air  of  heartfelt  homage  with  which 
gay  and  ardent  young  men  return  the  smile  and 
salutation  of  the  loveliest  of  the  reigning  belles. 

"  I  am  a  lost  man  !"  exclaimed  Howard. 

"  Which  one  now  ?"  asked  Leslie,  smiling. 

"  I  would  I  had  Jived  in  the  days  of  good  old 
Greece,  when  the  chisel  of  Praxiteles  made  marble 
breathe,  and  almost  blush." 

"  I  had  rather  live  in  the  good  old  town  of  Ma- 
nahatta,  after  a  merry  snow-storm  like  this,"  replied 
Leslie.  "  But  why  your  wish  ?" 

"  That  I  might  have  Flora  Temple  wrought  in 
Parian  for  my  gallery.  To  have  that  exquisite 
Psyche  face  in  marble  —  immutable — immortal 
marble — never  to  be  changed  by  sickness — by 
care — by  time.  I  would  spend  hours  by  it  daily, 
worshipping." 

"  Do  you  know,  Howard,"  said  Leslie,  "  I  think 
that  '  Psyche  face'  of  yours  a  very  expressive 
phrase  ?" 

"What!  more  expressive  than  Mr.  Henry 
Howard's  phrases  usually  are  ?  And,  pray,  the  why 
and  the  wherefore  ?" 

"  Because  it  illustrates  the  soul,"  returned  Leslie, 
warmly,  "  which  peculiarly  marks  the  expression 
of  Miss  Temple's  face." 

"  But,  look,  yonder  comes  another!"  said  Howard. 

"  Old  Mr.  Romain  and  his  daughter,"  added 
Leslie  ;  "  another  subject  for  your  Parian.  But  no 
Psycfie  there." 

A  stately  creature,  with  a  face  that  might  have 
been  Cleopatra's  in  her  girlhood,  bowed  smilingly 


20  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

'  to  the  two  young  men,  and  directed  to  them  the 
attention  of  her  father. 

"  After  all,"  exclaimed  Howard,  as  they  disap- 
peared amid  the  throng  of  sleighs, "  I  do  not  know 
but  those  large  eyes  of  Rosalie  Romain's  eclipse 
them  all." 

"  She  is  one  of  your  bewildering  girls,"  said 
Leslie,  "  whom  it  would  be  prudent  for  such  young 
gentlemen  as  you  to  beware  of." 

"  Too  late,  my  friend ;  your  caution,  as  good 
advice  very  often  does,  comes  quite  too  late.  Her 
first  smile  is  as  fatal  as  Kate  Kearney's.  But,  by- 
the-way,  Leslie,  they  say  that  you — " 

"  Nonsense— 'tis  not  true,"  interrupted  Leslie  ; 
"  so  they  give  you  to  Flora  Temple — " 

"  Ha !"  said  Howard,  affectedly,  with  a  volume 
of  egotistical  implication  in  the  motion  of  his  chin 
(nothing  more  eloquent  than  your  chin) — "  as  im- 
probable things  might  happen  !  But  where  is  my 
rascal  ?  I  bade  him  drive  up  and  meet  me  as  soon 
as  possible.  The  loitering  scoundrel !  I  hope  those 
mettlesome  fellows  of  mine  have  played  him  no 
trick." 

"  What  is  doing  yonder?"  said  Leslie  ;  "  is  some 
one  holding  a  levee  in  the  open  air  this  cold 
morning  ?" 

"  I  wager  my  life,"  cried  Howard,  "  that  the 
sleigh  around  which  the  others  are  all  crowding  so 
eagerly  contains  that  d d  French  count." 

"  His  lordship,  true  enough,  at  full  length,"  added 
Leslie, "coated  like  a  Russianemperor,and  showing 
off  those  four  fiery  animals  to  everybody's  admi- 
ration." 

"  And  envy,"  said  Howard.  "  That  fop,  now, 
could  marry  any  of  those  blooming  belles  at  ten 
minutes'  notice." 

"  You  do  your  countrywomen  injustice,"  replied 
his  friend,  dryly. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  21 

"  But  here  comes  the  pretty  Helen  Mellerie,  all 
fur  and  feathers  !"  resumed  Howard.  "  Truth  to 
say,"  he  continued,  with  that  discriminating  consist- 
ency with  which  he  seemed  to  judge  of  women, 
always  submitting  to  the  eyes  which  attacked  him 
last,  as  men  swear  allegiance  to  the  reigning 
monarch,  "  truth  to  say,  Helen  Mellerie  is  beauty's 
own." 

"And  behind/'added  Leslie, "  how  right  gallantly 
come  up  our  old  friends  the  Mortons  !" 

"  And  that  pretty  bird  Maria  Morton — she,  too, 
has  a  pair  of  eyes,"  said  Howard,  sagaciously 
striking  his  colours  in  advance, "  not  to  be  encoun- 
tered rashly." 

"Too  insipid,"  answered  Leslie  ;  "beauty  without 
at  least  some  sparkle  of  sense  or  heart,  is  such  a 
silly  doll." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Howard,  "  wise  men  fall  in  love 
with  and  marry  it.  Well,  a  fine  fall  of  snow," 
continued  he,  u  is  a  glorious  thing — is  it  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  even  in  the  homely  monotony  of  the  country 
it  has  something  solemn  and  pleasing,"  replied 
Leslie. 

"But  a  fashionable  snow-storm  !"  said  Howard. 
"  Ah  !  look — there  comes  your  own  peerless  sister, 
with  your  father,  Leslie  ;  and  what  a  magnificent 
pair  of  horses !  I  thought  mine  passable,  but 
really  /" 

"  1  bought  them  only  yesterday,"  remarked 
Leslie.  "  They  are  chosen  from  every  thing  this 
side  the  water ;  and,  with  all  their  fire  and  mettle,  are 
as  kind  in  the  harness  as  lambs, — Julia  could  drive 
them.  If  I  am  extravagant  in  any  thing,  it  is  in 
the  love  of  that  noble  animal.  There  is  nothing 
on  earth  so  beautiful  as  a  beautiful  horse." 

"  Except  a  beautiful  woman  !"  interrupted  How- 
ard, with  his  eyes  fixed  full  on  the  face  of  a  lady, 
who,  on  foot,  and  leading  by  the  hand  an  uncom- 


22  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

monly  handsome  child,  was.  attempting  to  cross 
the  street. 

At  the  sight  of  Leslie,  his  father  had  ordered  the 
glossy  and  steaming  steeds  to  the  sidewalk.  The 
young  foreigner  Clairmont,  who  had  been  painted 
out  by  Leslie,  drove  his  horses  up  at  the  moment, 
and  the  lady  crossing  with  the  child  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  at  the  great  peril  of  her  life, 
and  followed  the  equipage  with  her  eyes.  At  that 
instant  a  sharp  cry  of  terror  burst  suddenly  from 
all  quarters.  A  pair  of  horses  appeared  approaching 
at  full  speed,  dragging  the  fragments  of  a  broken 
and  untenanted  sleigh,  their  manes  streaming  on 
the  air,  their  ears  back,  their  heads  stretched  for- 
ward, with  open  mouth  and  dilated  nostril — the  half- 
loosened  traces  flying  about  their  heels,  dashing  first 
to  one  side  of  the  street,  then  to  the  other — ungo- 
vernable, desperate,  and  abandoned  to  all  the  wild 
madness  of  flight.  Each  bound  threatened  the 
extinction  of  some  human  life,  or  thaj  the  affrighted 
creatures  themselves  would  be  dashed  to  pieces. 
As  they  passed,  a  sympathetic  fury  ran  through 
all  the  startled  horses  around,  which  were  with 
difficulty  reined  in  by  their  drivers.  The  foot- 
passengers  rushed  precipitately  to  the  wall.  Men 
shouted,  children  cried,  women  screamed,  and 
all  the  gay  mirth  was  suddenly  transformed  to 
shrieking  fear  and  pale  horror.  Scarcely  a  moment 
had  elapsed  from  their  first  appearance  till  their 
arrival  at  the  spot  where  stood  Leslie  and  his  friend. 
All  seemed  to  have  escaped  from  their  perilous 
career  but  the  lady  with  the  child,  who  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  Howard.  Whether  un- 
conscious of  her  imminent  danger,  or  rendered  by  it 
unable  to  move,  she  remained  completely  exposed  ; 
and  the  crowd,  at  a  glance,  and  with  a  burst  of  new 
interest,  saw  the  fiery  and  furious  animals  plunging 
with  headlong  speed  directly  towards  her.  Cries 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  23 

of  "Stop  them  !  stop  them  !  Save  the  woman  and 
the  child  !"  rung  on  the  air  ;  but,  as  is  generally  the 
case  in  such  emergencies,  there  were  found  many 
more  to  suggest  this  counsel  than  to  execute  it. 
Their  destruction  appeared  inevitable;  and  that 
stir,  shudder,  and  hum  with  which  men  look  on  some 
bloody  and  terrible  accident  broke  from  the  crowd, 
when  Leslie  sprang  hastily  forward,  grasping 
unsuccessfully  at  the  reins  of  the  fugitive  beasts, 
but  dragging  the  mother  and  child  almost  from 
beneath  their  hoofs.  The  lady,  thus  suddenly  res- 
cued from  the  jaws  of  death,  immediately  swooned, 
and  was  conveyed  with  the  child  into  an  adjoining 
mansion.  Attention  to  them  would  have  been 
more  undivided  but  for  the  catastrophe  of  one  of 
the  animals  from  whose  fury  they  were  saved. 
Starting  aside  from  the  grasp  of  Leslie,  the  finer  of 
the  two  leaped  forward  with  an  almost  supernatural 
effort,  and  the  shaft  of  a  gig  entered  into  his  body 
directly  through  the  ample  chest,  as  a  sword 
plunged  and  buried  to  the  hilt  in  a  human  bosom. 
The  noble  creature  uttered  a  scream  painfully 
expressive  of  agony  and  fear ;  and,  bleeding, 
sweating,  foaming,  trembling,  and  panting,  came 
heavily  to  the  ground.  A  rush  of  people  now 
closed  in  upon  them.  The  dying  steed  was  at  once 
disentangled  from  his  harness,  the  purple  tide  poured 
forth  in  a  dark  red  flood,  crimsoning  the  pure  snow, 
and  with  each  gush  the  pain  of  the  superb  animal 
appeared  more  insupportable,  while  the  vapour 
curled  from  his  reeking  flanks.  He  struggled,  and 
snorted,  and  strove  to  rise  and  resume  his  winged 
and  fiery  flight,  and  his  immense  and  flashing  eyes 
turned  gleaming  upon  the  faces  of  the  spectators, 
as  if  soliciting  aid,  or,  at  least,  compassion.  But 
presently  his  panting  breast  heaved  with  a  feebler 
motion.  Weaker,  and  yet  more  weak,  grew  his 
convulsive  shudders,  and  his  vain  attempts  to 


24  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

regain  his  feet ;  till— drenched,  quivering,  and  gory 
— foam  on  his  lip — terror  and  despair  in  his  eyes- 
he  stretched  himself  upon  the  ground  in  the  last 
throes  of  that  dark  crisis  that  must  come  alike  to 
man  and  beast.  His  fleet  limbs  stiffened,  his  asth- 
matic breathings  were  silent,  his  broad  and  majestic 
chest  moved  no  more,  the  damp  lips  curled  from 
the  large  ivory  teeth,  the  eyes  stared,  started,  and 
grew  fixed  and  glassy,  and  that  mighty  form  which 
but  a  moment  before  had  carried  terror  through  the 
crowd,  lay  now  transmuted  to  a  senseless  clod.  A 
silence,  as  if  a  human  soul  had  passed  away, 
remained  on  the  circle  of  compassionate  spec- 
tators. 

Leslie  had  inquired  after  the  lady  whose  life  he 
had  saved.  She  was  yet  invisible,  but,  the  physician 
informed  him,  had  sustained  no  serious  injury.  He 
caressed  a  few  moments  the  exceedingly  beautiful 
little  boy,  who  had  been  severely  but  not  dan- 
gerously cut  upon  the  forehead,  and  in  whose  eyes 
he  found  something  singularly  sweet  and  expressive. 
Escaping  from  the  scene  which  might  have  awaited 
him  had  the  lady  been  recovered,  he  entered  his 
father's  sleigh,  accompanied  by  Howard,  relieved 
John  of  the  reins,  and,  handling  the  long  whip  with 
the  air  of  one  not  unaccustomed  to  its  use,  he 
laughed  away  the  apprehensions  of  his  father  and 
sister,  and  dashed  in  among  the  idle  racers  in  the 
gay  arena  of  pleasure. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  25 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  Lion,  and  an  Accusation. 


"  Believe  me,  an  absolute  gentleman,  full  of  most  excellent 
differences,  of  very  soft  society,  and  great  showing :  indeed,  to 
speak  feelingly  of  him,  he  is  the  card  or  calendar  of  gentry,  for 
you  shall  find  in  him  the  continent  of  what  part  a  gentleman 
would  see."  Hamlet. 


RING — ring — ring. 

"  Is  Count  Clairmont  of  the  French  army  at 
home  ?"  inquired  a  footman  at  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  hotel  sin  Broad  way,  while  the  horses  of 
an  elegant  barouche  stood  tossing  their  heads,  and 
stamping  impatiently  against  the  pavement  at  the 
door ;  for  city  sleighing  is  brief  as  the  "  posy  of  a 
ring"  or  "  woman's  love"  (though  this  last  is  a 
slander). 

"  No,  sir,  he  is  not,"  replied  the  consequential 
black  servant. 

"  Please  hand  the  count  this  note,  with  the  re- 
spects of  Mrs.  Temple." 

Ring — ring — ring. 

"  Does  not  Count  Clairmont  of  the  French  army 
lodge  here  ?"  asked  a  second  visiter. 

«  He  does." 

"Can  I  see  him?" 

•'  You  cannot — he  is  not  in." 

"  My  card — I  shall  see  him  at  the  opera." 

Ring — ring — ring. 

VOL.  I. — C 


26  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

A  tall,  pale-faced  gentleman  in  black,  with  a 
hooked  nose  and  no  teeth.  "  Can  you  direct  me 
where  to  find  Count  Clairmont?" 

"  This  is  his  hotel,  sir." 

"  Is  he  to  be  seen  ?" 

"  Not  till  the  afternoon." 

"  Has  Count  Clairmont  come  in  yet?"  inquired  a 
breathless  messenger  in  livery,  in  a  profuse  per- 
spiration, and  who  had  been  seven  times  before 
during  the  last  half-hour. 

"  He  will  not  be  visible,  I  have  already  told  you, 
this  morning." 

"Miss  Morley's  compliments,  and  returns  the 
volume." 

Several  carriages  drove  up  in  the  course  of  the 
morning,  a  score  of  domestics,  and  friends  without 
number,  among  whom  were  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  inhabitants  of  the  city,  all  inquiring 
and  leaving  cards,  notes,  or  some  nameless  message 
or  package  for  Count  Clairmont  of  the  French  army. 
One  or  two  young  female  servants  entered  timidly, 
and  closely  veiled,  presenting  small  billets-doux ; 
ingeniously  folded  in  triangles  and  other  expressive 
figures  (the  boyish  eyes  of  love,  the  young  dog  ! 
peeping  from  under  the  big  wig  of  mathematics), 
and  each  leaving  her  tribute  of  rose-coloured  or 
pale  blue  gold-edged  note-paper  (containing  heaven 
knows  what),  to  be  most  particularly  delivered 
into  the  hands  only  of  Count  Clairmont  of  the 
French  army. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Count  Clairmont,"  said  a  dark- 
complexioned  and  very  handsome  girl,  with  a 
silvery  voice  and  a  foreign  accent,  her  veil  drawn 
aside  from  her  close  bonnet  to  address  the  servant, 
which  she  did  in  atone  of  eagerness,  and  almost  of 
command. 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  said  the  servant.  "  He  aint 
visible  to  no  one  whatsomever." 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  27 

«  He  will  see  Mr.  Frederick  Morton,"  interrupted 
a  very  foppishly  dressed  young  man,  who  had  been 
leisurely  surveying  the  remarkable  face  of  the 
female :  "  say  Mr.  Morton — he  will  see  me,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Not  by  no  manner  of  means,"  said  the  negro. 
"He  aint  in;  because,  you  see,  he  aint  up.  Con- 
sequently, no  gentleman  can't  never  be  in  when  he 
aint  up" 

The  truth  of  this  syllogism  was  indisputable,  and 
Mr.  Frederick  Morton,  after  another  lingering  gaze 
at  the  fair  stranger,  took  his  departure. 

There  was  now  a  furious  ringing  at  the  bell  which 
communicated  with  the  suites  of  private  apart- 
ments. 

"  John  !"  bawled  the  bar-keeper. 

"  Coming,  coming,  sir !" 

"  Count  Clairmont's  bell !" 

"D — n  this  Count  Clairmont  of  the  French 
army  !"  muttered  the  man.  "  He  has  nothing  to  do 
but  turn  women's  heads,  and  men's  too,  for  that 
matter,  and  to  keep  us  poor  devils  all  day  trooping 
up  and  down-stairs.  Legs  aint  made  of  iron,  I 
guess." 

He  was  met  by  Count  Clairmont's  servant  from 
the  stairs. 

"  Here,  John !  you  black  scoundrel,  what  the 
devil  is  the  reason  Count  Clairmont's  breakfast  has 
not  been  brought  up?  Bring  it  up  instantly.  His 
lordship  has  rung  twice." 

"  I  wish  his  lordship  was — " 

John  scratched  his  head,  and  left  the  sentence 
unfinished.  The  valet  suddenly  caught  a  view  of 
the  young  girl,  at  whom  he  gazed  with  strong  and 
increasing  astonishment. 

"  What ! — no !"  muttered  he.  "  Yes — surely — it 
can't  be  ;  but — " 

"  Raifaellol"  said  the  girl  vehemently,  and  walking 


28  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

up  close  to  him.  « It  is  /"—and  she  suddenly  broke 
into  a  rapid  flow  of  Italian,  though  uttered  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Per  DioT  said  the  valet,  "I  dare  not." 

«  He  will  break  my  heart !"  said  the  girl. 

»  He  will  break  my  head  !"  said  RafFaello. 

"  If  you  displease  me  you  will  repent  of  it  here- 
after," answered  she. 

"  If  I  offend  my  master  I  shall  repent  of  it  at 
once,"  said  the  man. 

"  It  is  in  vain  to  deny  me — I  will  see  him  at 
once." 

"Signora  Louise!"  replied  the  valet,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  in  which  surprise  and  per- 
plexity seemed  struggling  with  a  desire  to  oblige 
— "  enter  into  this  apartment,  and  I  will  return 
to  you  directly." 

There  was  something  striking  in  the  appearance 
of  the  stranger.  Her  figure  was  tall,  round,  and 
beautifully  formed,  and  her  face  well  repaid  a  second 
glance.  The  complexion,  though  brown  to  the  last 
borders  of  a  brunette,  was  clear  and  transparent. 
Her  hair  of  the  colour  of  a  raven ;  and  much  there 
was  in  her  countenance  of  sweetness,  and  in  her 
manner  of  dignity,  although  her  dress  did  not 
denote  affluence.  But  the  principal  feature  was 
her  eyes.  They  were  remarkable  for  their  large- 
ness, their  intense  blackness,  the  light  which  shot 
from  them  with  every  rolling  thought  and  sudden 
feeling,  the  firm  full  gaze  with  which  they  ex- 
pressed seriousness  or  anger,  and  the  suffusion 
of  softness  and  tenderness  which  sometimes 
quenched  their  fiercer  beams. 

The  valet  presently  returned,  and  beckoned  her 
to  follow  ;  and  the  plebeian  world  below  went  on  for 
a  time  without  further  molestation  from  the  agents 
or  affairs  of  Count  Clairmont  of  the  French  army. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  29 

There  is  no  keener  wine-lover  than  your  Turk. 
Nowhere  are  there  found  wilder  democrats  than 
in  the  ranks  of  a  despot ;  and  nowhere  are  the 
badges  of  nobility  more  reverently  and  indiscrimi- 
nately hailed  than  by  the  gay  votaries  of  fashion  in 
a  republic,  where  all  men  are  "  born  equal,"  and 
where  titles  are  excluded  by  the  constitution. 

A  count — a  real  count — had  made  his  appearance 
in  New- York.  Rumour  preceded,  enthusiasm 
welcomed,  and  admiration  followed  him.  He  was 
young,  handsome,  rich,  and  a  foreigner.  The  two 
former  would  have  been  much,  the  latter  were  every 
thing.  It  was  whispered  that,  notwithstanding  his 
high  title  and  princely  fortune,  he  would  write  a 
book  on  America.  Books  on  America  were  even 
then  the  vogue.  The  opinion  of  the  count  was 
looked  for  with  intense  eagerness ;  for  it  is  a  charac- 
teristic of  my  countrymen,  while  they  assume  a 
settled  confidence  in  their  merit,  to  shrink  from  the 
lash  of  every  nameless  satirist.  Then,  perhaps,  he 
might  marry  !  The  very  men  went  crazy — and  the 
women ! 

Although  in  the  French  service,  the  Count  Clair- 
mont  had  spent  much  of  his  youth  in  England,  and 
the  language  was  said  to  be  more  familiar  to  him 
than  his  own  ;  others  he  spoke  too  with  irresistible 
grace  ;  but  that  of  love  more  freely  than  all.  Then 
he  had  travelled  over  the  world,  danced  with 
duchesses  and  princesses,  feasted  with  dukes  and 
kings,  fought  in  a  score  of  indefinite  battles,  and 
triumphed  in  victories  which  nations  had  owed  to 
his  arm.  He  had  been  wounded  by  a  retreating 
foe  (ah  !  what  was  that  wound  to  those  he  daily 
inflicted  !) — had  sighed  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus, 
and  mused  amid  the  ruins  of  Rome ;  had  beheld 
Vesuvius  spout  his  fires,  and  Olympus  rear  his  head. 
His  motion  was  grace,  his  voice  music,  his  eyes 
bliss,  his  touch  rapture:  then  he  was  fascinating; 
c  2 


30  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

then  he  was  foreign  ;  then— he  was  single  ;  then — 
he  \vasacount.  It  is  certain  that  he  was  a  modest 
man — that  is,  modest  for  a  count  in  the  French 
army — modest  for  a  man  that  had  half  the  lovely 
women  of  New- York  at  his  feet.  Relieved  for  a 
time,  in  consequence  of  a  wound,  from  the  claims 
of  his  own  country,  he  no  longer  fleshed  his  sword 
in  war ;  but  he  had  seized  a  nobler  weapon,  and 
wreathed  his  brows  with  more  graceful  laurels. 
This  nobler  weapon  was  a  goose-quill.  Blood  he 
could  not  now  shed,  but  his  ink  flowed  freely  in  the 
cause  of  innocence  and  beauty — and  midnight  oil 
he  wasted  like  water.  Dull  were  the  eyes  that 
might  not  strike  a  rhyme  from  the  soul  of  Count 
Clairmont  of  the  French  army.  Every  smile  was 
caught  and  imprisoned  in  a  verse;  every  blush 
brightened  again  in  a  sonnet.  Many  a  slender  foot 
had  been  celebrated — many  a  tender  glance 
embalmed — many  a  passion  nursed — and  many  a 
cigar  smoked,  in  all  the  raptures  of  sentiment,  and 
in  all  the  reveries  of  champaign,  by  Count  Clair- 
mont of  the  French  army.  Envy,  jealousy,  even 
love,  could  frame  only  one  accusation  against  him. 
It  was  a  charge  that  moistened  the  eyes  and  heaved 
the  bosom  of  many  a  charming  belle.  It  shaded 
his  triumph  at  the  ball,  and  dimmed  his  joy  at  the 
banquet.  The  tall  and  lovely  Henrietta  Bellville 
actually  broke  away  from  a  tete-a-tete,  the  only  one 
envious  fate  ever  granted,  at  the  very  thought ;  and 
that  glowing  creature  Helen  Mellerie  was  seen  to 
withdraw  her  hand  from  his — in  the  little  summer- 
house — by  the  river — at  her  father's  country-seat 
— in  August — the  moon  quite  above  the  trees — 
immediately — that  is,  almost  immediately — at  the 
recollection  of  its  truth : — 

Count  Clairmont  of  the  French   armv  was — 
a  flirt ! 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  31 


CHAPTER  III. 


A  Trifle,  and  a  Spark — But  on  Trifles  hang  the  Destinies  of 
Men,  and  a  Spark  is  sometimes  sufficient  to  burn  a  City. 


"  What !  does  the  pestilent  coxcomb  turn  his  shoulder  on  me  ? 
Can  a  butterfly  be  saucy  1" 


"  OH,  Mr.  Howard  !"  said  Miss  Morton ;  "  good 
heavens !  take  care  how  you  tread.  I  have  dropped 
— though  how  I  cannot  conceive — a  diamond  ring 
of  very  uncommon  value.  Papa's  New-year  pres- 
ent. It  is  one  of  the  largest  stones  I  ever  saw." 

The  company  good-humouredly  proceeded  to 
assist  the  fair  unfortunate  in  the  search  ;  when  a 
pretty  young  maid-servant  entered  the  room  to 
address  her  mistress,  and  again  disappeared.  The 
precious  trinket  was  sought  in  vain. 

"  I  had  it,"  said  Miss  Morton,  turning  quite  pale 
— "I  really  had  it  ten  minutes  since,  and  examined  it 
particularly.  It  must  be  somewhere  here." 

One  of  the  gentlemen  suggested  the  impropriety 
of  having  admitted  the  servant. 

"  She  certainly  might  have  picked  it  up ;  and  if 
so,  discovery  is  altogether  beyond  the  limit  of  pos- 
sibility." 

"  Dear  me  !"  exclaimed  one,  "  how  unlucky  !" 

"  Bless  me !"  cried  another,  "  it  is  extraordi- 
nary !" 

Miss  Morton's  alarm  at  length  grew  painful,  and 
tears  stood  on  her  cheeks. 


82  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

"  Oh !"  said  the  disconsolate  girl,  "  I  would  not 
have  lost  it  for  all  the  world." 

Leslie  and  Howard  endeavoured  in  vain  to  con- 
sole her. 

"  Hush,  pretty  trembler,"  whispered  Count  Clair- 
mont ;  "  I  have  seen  one  equally  brilliant.  I  will 
procure  it  at  once ;  and,  oh  !  how  happy  I  should 
be,  if  Miss  Morton  would  allow  me  to  replace  it." 

It  soon  appeared  that  the  costly  bauble  was  lost. 
Many  anathemas  were  denounced  against  the 
pretty  maid,  who  had  certainly  picked  it  up  amid 
the  general  confusion  as  she  passed  through  the 
apartment. 

"  Papa  will  have  her  put  in  prison,"  sobbed  Miss 
Morton,  in  an  anguish  of  disappointment  and  rage ; 
"  and  I  hope  he  will." 

"  Prison  !"  cried  one  ;  "  it  is  too  good  for  her." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  echoed  another ;  "  to  be  sure 
it  is." 

"  She  should  be  hanged,"  said  a  third. 

"  But  are  you  sure  she  is  guilty  ?"  asked  Leslie. 

"  Sure  !"  answered  the  whole  company;  "  quite 
sure." 

As  we  may  not  in  the  future  progress  of  our 
story,  find  leisure  to  pause  over  the  fate  of  the 
person  suspected,  it  ^nay  be  appropriate  to  state 
here  that  she  was  arrested  and  imprisoned,  and 
(subsequently  indicted  for  the  theft.  For  want  of 
isufficient  decisive  proof,  she  was  found  not  guilty, 
but  her  discharge  did  not  take  place  till  some 
months  afterward,  and  then  she  was  released  only 
with  an  impaired  constitution  and  a  blighted  char- 
acter, which  eventually  led  her  to  real  crime  and 
extreme  misery. 

Count  Clairmont  entered.  Perhaps  of  all  the 
places  which  he  was  accustomed  to  honour  with  his 
presence,  he  came  to  none  where  the  civility  of 


NORMAN    LESLIE. 


good-breeding  was  less  alloyed  with  silly  flattery 
and  unmeaning  admiration  than  at  Mr.  Leslie's. 

"  When  I  was  at  St.  Petersburg,"  said  the 
count,  "  there  was  snow." 

"  Well,  I  never  heard  any  thing  said  against  that 
of  America  before,"  observed  Leslie,  smiling. 

"  Of  course,"  rejoined  Miss  Leslie,  "  republican 
snow  cannot  compete  with  imperial." 

The  count  arched  his  eyebrows. 

"  Satirical  Miss  Leslie  !" 

"  No,  only  conscious  of  our  imperfections,"  said 
she,  demurely.  "  But  I  am  sure  I  heard  you  the 
other  day  praise  our  thunder  and  lightning." 

"  No,"  answered  the  count,  "  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  that  of  Europe  is  superior.  Crossing  the 
Alps,  I  have  witnessed  such  thunder  and  lightning 
as  could  not  take  place  in  the  United  States,  in 
consequence  of  the  inferior  height  of  your  moun- 
tains." 

"  The  highest  only  seventeen  thousand  feet,"  in- 
terrupted Leslie,  "  and  your  highest  fifteen  thou- 
sand." 

"  'Tis  the  most  amusing  thing  on  earth,"  said  his 
sister,  "  to  hear  people  of  different  countries  pride 
themselves,  individually,  upon  what  they  have  had 
no  share  in  producing.  See  the  triumph,  now,  of 
Norman,  on  account  of  a  mountain  two  or  three 
thousand  feet  higher  than  his  neighbours'.  And 
confess,  count,  that  you  are,  at  heart,  rather 
ashamed  of  your  little  Mount  Blanc." 

"  I  doubt,"  said  the  count,  coolly,  "  the  accuracy 
of  Mr.  Leslie's  statement." 

"  I  can  convince  you,"  replied  Leslie,  "  by  a 
reference  to — " 

"  Pray,  Miss  Leslie,"  interrupted  the  count,  turn- 
ing his  shoulder  to  Norman — "  pray,  Miss  Leslie, 
how  is  your  papa  ?" 

Leslie's  eyes  flashed  fire. 


34  NORMAN    LESLIE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  dutiful  Daughter. 


1  Fathers,  from  hence  trust  not  your  daughters, 
By  what  you  see  them  act." 

Othello. 


0  DEAR,  dear !"  exclaimed  Rosalie  Remain,  look- 
ing up  after  a  brown  study  of  a  minute,  "  it  is 

"Explain,  my  pretty penserosa"  said  the  count, 
laughing. 

"The  evidences  are  strong  as  proof  of  holy 
writ,"  she  sighed,  fixing  her  tender  eyes  on  his, 
just  sufficiently  moistened  to  be  uncommonly 
bright. 

"Evidences  of  what?"  asked  the  count. 

"  You  know  as  well  as  I,"  said  Rosalie,  winding 
a  rose-coloured  riband  round  the  end  of  her  finger, 
and  looking  down. 

"  No,  on  my  life !" 

"  That  you  are  a  flirt." 

'As  1  live,"  exclaimed  the  count,  remonstra- 


tingly. 
The 


beautiful  girl  turned  partly  away,  half- 
pouting. 

"  Nay,  more,"  said  he,  in  a  softer  tone,  "  as— 
as  I—" 

He  took  her  hand.  He  was  certainly  on  his 
knees,  or  rather  on  one  knee ;  he  pressed  it,  as, 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  35 

faintly,  and  only  at  intervals,  she  struggled  to 
escape. 

"As  you  what?"  cried  she,  impatiently,  and 
slightly  stamping  her  foot. 

But  a  smile  which  had  been  lurking  all  the  time 
around  her  lips  broke  over  her  features  like  sun- 
shine through  a  sudden  cloud. 

"  As  I  love"  said  the  count,  after  a  brief  pause, 
and  in  his  lowest  tone. 

Notwithstanding  the  smile,  a  tear  had  been 
slowly  filling  in  her  eyes.  It  stirred — it  fell.  It 
dropped  upon  his  hand.  He  kissed  it  off. 

The  tableau  was  picturesque.  They  lingered  in 
it  a  moment,  as  if  they  knew  it  became  them. 

"Dear!  dear!  there's  pa!"  exclaimed  Rosalie, 
in  a  sudden  fright — and  she  threw  open  a  large 
portfolio  of  plates. 

"An  extraordinary  taste,  count,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  "  my  daughter  has  for  the  fine  arts." 

"  Oh,  pa !" 

"  I  never  knew  such  an  ear ;  and  as  for  draw- 
ing—" 

"  Oh  dear,  pa ;  how  can  you  !" 

"  Then  for  the  plain  sweet  old  English  ballad, 
my  lord — " 

"Good  gracious,  pa!  don't  you  see  the  count 
wants  to  go  ?" 

"  What,  are  you  off,  count  ?  Bless  me  !  we 
must  keep  you  for  dinner." 

"  Necessity,  Mr.  Romain.  You  know  the  tyr- 
anny of  appointments." 

"  Break  them,  count ;  they  are  not  with  the  bank. 
My  love,  can't  you  persuade  him  to  remain  ?" 

"  I  have  not  tried,  pa." 

"  Heydey !  heydey  !  these  saucy  girls !  But  we 
must  not  let  you  off.  Besides,  the  sky  looks 
showery." 

"  But  showers  sometimes,"  said  Clairmont,  with 


36  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

a  slight  glance  at  Miss  Remain,  "  are  more  beauti- 
ful than  sunshine." 

"Let  him  go,  pa;  I  am  sure  it  will  not  ram 
again  to-day." 

*  Why,  you  jade,"  cried  the  old  gentleman, 
"  you  will  drive  him  away  in  earnest.  Impudent 
minx !"— he  drew  her  towards  him  as  he  spoke,  and 
printed  a  kiss  on  her  full  red  lips—"  she  is  getting 
incorrigible." 

"  Lock  her  up,  Romain ;   she  is  mischievous, 
said  the  count,  shaking  his  finger  playfully  at  the 
laughing  girl  as  he  withdrew. 

"  The  sky  has  cleared,"  said  Mr.  Romain. 

"Yes,  pa." 

•'  What  an  elegant  young  man  Count  Clairmont 
is !" 

"  Yes,  pa." 

"  You  are  going  to  Mrs.  Temple's  to-night,  Ro- 
salie?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,  dear  pa." 

"  You  will  see  the  count  there." 

"  I  hope  not,  pa ;  I  think  him  rather  disagree- 
able." 

"  The  women  are  pulling  caps  for  him,  notwith- 
standing, they  say,  in  all  directions.  He  is  very 
rich  ;  he  appears  quite  fond  of  us  ;  perhaps — " 

"  Oh  no,  pa ;  only  polite." 

"  Well,  every  thing  is  for  the  best." 

«  Yes,  pa." 

"  I  think  Temple's  girl  will  manage  to — " 

"  To  what,  pa  ?"  said  Rosalie,  with  sudden  eager- 
ness. 

"  Go  and  get  ready  for  dinner,  child,"  said  the 
musing  father,  recollecting  himself;  "  it  is  no  affair 
of  ours." 

"  Yes,  pa — no,  pa,"  replied  the  dutiful  daughter, 
with  innocent  simplicity,  and  retired  to  dress. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  37 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  Dream — and,  as  Dreams  sometimes  are,  broken. 

"  And  thus  from  Fancy's  realms 
Fall'n  back  to  Earth." 

THERE  is  nothing  like  a  rout.  Those  given  by 
Mrs.  Temple  were  the  most  brilliant  in  America. 
But  we  must  know  Mrs.  Temple  before  we  attend 
her  parties. 

You  have  seen  a  sweet,  quiet,  unambitious 
woman,  formed  for  the  wife  of  a  poet,  whose  life 
would  glide  happily  away  amid  the  green  shades 
of  the  country — a  woman  to  read  to  during  the 
long  winter  nights — to  converse  with,  when  the 
overworked  mind  and  heart  are  wearied  and  ex- 
hausted in  the  brawling  world — to  look  at  with 
inward  delight,  while  she  teaches  the  children  their 
evening  lessons — their  innocent  prayers, — kisses 
them — blesses  them — and  packs  them  off  to  bed. 
Her  hair  may  be  parted  on  her  forehead  with  a 
simple  grace,  that  touches  by  a  total  absence  of  all 
attempts  to  touch,  and  surprises  the  heart  at  once 
into  respect  and  admiration.  Even  in  the  early 
morning  you  find  such  a  one  ready  to  receive 
you  with  a  fresh  glow  on  her  cheek,  as  if  she  had 
been  already  abroad  worshipping  nature  ;  and 
then  you  feel  rebuked  in  soul  that  you  have  been 
losing,  in  swinish  sleep,  the  golden  hours  of  the 
opening  day.  Her  home  is  her  world  ;  her  exist- 
ence is  in  the  love  and  happiness  of  her  husband 
and  children.  In  the  dazzling  sphere  of  fashion, 

VOL.  I. D 


38  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

she  may  win  admiration,  but  she  seeks  it  not ;  for 
she  knows  it  is  often  the  meed  of  the  superficial  and 
the  false, — that  the  noblest  qualities  which  adorn 
character  and  dignify  human  life  there  often  pass 
unregarded,  or  become  the  themes  of  ridicule. 
Her  principal  charm  is  mind  and  feeling;  but 
there  are  moments  when  purity  and  love  lend  her 
a  beauty  that  illumines  her  presence  like  sunshine. 
There  is  nothing  like  the  loveliness  of  a  woman 
with  a  spring  of  satisfied  affection  flowing  freshly 
at  her  heart.  Sunshine  is  too  dim  for  a  com- 
parison. 

Such  a  woman  we  have  all  seen ;  but  such  a 
woman  was  not  Mrs.  Temple.  Her  portrait  might 
be  appropriately  hung  opposite  to  this, — as  you 
see  pendants  of  sunrise  and  moonlight — calm  and 
storm — gleaming,  side  by  side,  from  the  walls  of 
an  academy.  Mrs.  Temple  was  a  city  wife,  formed 
to  dazzle  and  triumph  in  companies.  She  had 
trodden  the  flowery  path  of  an  admired  belle  ;  had 
early  married  a  wild  good- hearted  fellow,  very 
much  like  herself, — some  said  for  love,  some  for 
money.  They  were  affluent  beyond  measure; 
loved  each  other  well  enough  to  be  perfectly  happy 
when  together,  or  when  apart.  The  blooming  girl 
had  scarcely  changed,  as  the  beautiful  wife  and  the 
still  glowing  and  graceful  mother,  till  time,  the 
destroyer  of  others'  charms,  but  shedding  only  a 
deeper  richness  upon  hers,  matured  her  into  the 
stately  and  magnificent  woman,  who  reigned  in 
the  New- York  circles  fashion's  chief  minion,  and 
proud  as  Egypt's  queen.  One  daughter  crowned 
her  affections;  and  Flora  Temple  rose  by  the  side 
of  her  brilliant  mother,  lovelier,  but  not  so  gay; 
and  winning  all  hearts  with  a  less  striking  but  far 
deeper  power.  Men  hesitated  upon  which  to  be- 
stow their  worship.  So  sometimes  lingers  the 
summer  day,  drawing  all  eyes  to  the  encrimsoned 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  39 

west,  even  when  the  moon  has  long  filled,  with  her 
holier  radiance,  the  ascending  heaven.  The  sin- 
gularity of  this  association  could  not  escape  the 
notice  of  the  yet  ambitious  woman  of  fashion; 
and  Mrs.  Temple  regarded  Flora  with  a  curiously 
mixed  feeling,  wavering  between  the  enthusiastic 
fondness  of  the  mother  and  the  lingering  rivalry 
of  the  belle.  There  was,  perhaps,  a  certain  con- 
scious magnanimity  in  the  delight  with  which  she 
gazed  upon  her  daughter's  expanding  charms — 
fond,  passionately,  devotedly  fond  as  she  herself 
was  of  admiration,  and  accustomed  to  be  its 
centre.  But  yet,  though  they  charmed  alike,  they 
could  scarcely  interfere  with  each  other.  The  one 
was  always  sure  to  overcome,  when  she  desired 
to  do  so,  by  the  long-practised  energies  of  her 
highly-gifted  nature ;  the  other  always  won  love 
without  wishing,  and  even  without  knowing  it. 
The  daughter  valued  not  what  she  had  never 
striven  to  obtain,  and  beheld  with  pleasure  the 
triumphs  of  her  queenly  mother;  who  in  her  turn 
yielded  the  path  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile  to  the 
more  unpretending  excellences  of  Flora.  Some 
sharp  and  unfavourable  features  there  were  in 
Mrs.  Temple's  disposition,  for  she  was  haughty 
when  excited,  and  aristocratic  to  a  folly.  But  if 
she  had  particular  enemies,  her  general  kindness 
and  her  fascinating  manners  rendered  the  world 
at  large  her  friend.  The  life  of  her  family,  the 
object  of  her  husband's  love  and  pride — after  his 
dogs  and  horses — left  to  her  own  control,  in  the 
possession  of  boundless  wealth,  with  a  constitution 
unimpaired,  a  beauty  mellowed,  a  wit  sharpened, 
and  a  mind  enriched, — she  was  a  giddy,  sweet, 
proud,  high-tempered,  happy,  fashionable  woman, 
who  never  seriously  conceived  a  more  severe  wish 
against  those  among  her  neighbours  whom  she 
had  the  least  reason  to  like,  than  that  the  routs 


40  NORMA.N    LESLIE. 

which  she  gave  two  or  three  times  a  year  might 
make  them  positively  die  of  admiration  and  envy. 

"  What !  nine  o'clock !"  cried  the  count,  look- 
ing at  his  watch  ;  "  I  must  actually  go  this  in- 
stant." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  sighed,  and  turned  towards  him 
a  pair  of  hazel  eyes  which  had  done  mischief  in 
their  day,  and  were  yet  dangerous,  though  they 
were  now,  or  at  least  ought  to  have  been,  sheathed 
in  the  scabbard  of  matrimony. 

"  Why  do  you  sigh  ?"  said  the  count. 

"  Because  I  hate  solitude ;  and  when  you  go  I 
shall  be  alone." 

"  But  this,"  said  the  count,  "  is  Mrs.  Temple's 
night,  and  I  have  positively  promised." 

"  You  are  too  early,"  said  Mrs.  Hamilton. 
"  Twelve  will  be  quite  time  enough  for  that  proud 
and  giddy  Mrs.  Temple." 

"  But  I  have  two  or  three  other  imperative 
engagements  before  Mrs.  Temple's.  There  is  the 
young  Mrs.  Wilson." 

44  And  you  leave  me  for  her  /" 

«•  Then  there  are  the  Evertons." 

Mrs.  Hamilton  sighed  again. 

44  Is  my  sweet  coz  so  pensive  ?" 

•*  I  do  not  know  ;  I  am  very  unhappy." 

44  Can  you  be  unhappy  ?" 

The  handsome  young  nobleman  took  her  hand. 

There  was  not  a  purer  woman  on  earth  than 
Mrs.  Hamilton.  Her  very  purity  made  her  care- 
less. A  school-girl  could  not  be  more  artless. 
Her  lips  opened  to  every  thing  that  stirred  in  her 
heart  as  naturally  as  rosebuds  unfold  when  they 
are  ripe. 

"Ah!  Lucy,  what  a  happy  man  is  your  hus- 
band !" 

44  Not  so  happy  as  you  think*" 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  41 

11  How  !  Hamilton  not  happy !  Why,  he  is  the 
gayest  dog  among  us." 

"  Yes,  away  at  his  club  with  you."        u'p-r 

"  My  lovely  friend,  you  wrong  him." 

"  Ah !  you  little  know."  A  tear  glittered  in 
her  eye. 

"  By  heavens  !  dear  girl,  you  terrify  me  ! — the 
mere  suspicion  that  you  were  not  happy  would  for 
ever  prevent  my  being  so." 

"  Oh,  my  lord !  I  must  not  hear — you  must  not 
dare." 

"  And  why  should  you  not  possess  a  friend  in 
me  as  well  as  in  another?  I  sympathize  in  your 
sorrows  as  I  would  in  those  of  a  friend  of  my  own 
sex.  This  dear  hand  has,  I  fear,  been  wasted." 

"Count,  I  beg— I  entreat — do  not  make  me 
angry." 

"  Loveliest  of  lovely  creatures  !"  said  the  count, 
"  you  have  not  the  heart  to  reward  admiration  and 
sympathy  with  anger.  What,  weeping  1" 

"  My  lord,  if  you  have  any  friendship  for  me, 
leave  me." 

"  Friendship  !  can  you  doubt  it?" 

He  dropped  on  one  knee.  This  seemed  a  fa- 
vourite position,  when  there  was  a  woman  in  the 
case.  His  homage,  doubtless,  would  have  met 
with  a  severe  rebuke,  but  a  step  was  heard  in  the 
hall. 

"  There — there's  James,  my  lord!" 

The  entrance  of  the  domestic  restrained  the 
ardours  of  the  noble  foreigner,  who  was  upon  his 
feet,  and  several  yards  off,  with  an  adroitness  that 
argued  considerable  practice. 

"  Pray,  tell  my  dear  Hamilton,"  he  cried,  "  that  I 
waited  for  him  an  hour.  I  must  bid  you  adieu  !" 
and  he  bowed  himself  out.. 

"  Take  away  the  tea-things,  James,"  said 
Hamilton. 


42  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

The  man  obeyed,  and  disappeared. 

His  lovely  young  mistress  remained  a  moment 
in  an  attitude  of  thought.  Suddenly  rising,  she 
gazed  at  herself  in  the  mirror  ;  and  as  she  gazed 
her  feelings  appeared  to  assume  a  new  mood. 
She  adjusted  the  blonde  and  curls  around  a  very 
charming  face.  A  soft  colour  suffused  her  counte- 
nance. Her  eyes  emitted  a  lustre  which  had  not 
brightened  there  for  many  a  day.  She  sighed; 
but  as  she  sighed  a  smile  beamed  upon  her  fea- 
tures, and  she  seemed  lost  in  the  mazes  of  some 
sad  but  pleasurable  thought. 

"  Yes,"  at  length  she  said  to  herself;  "  happy, 
happy  woman!  What  would  life  have  been  to 
me  then  ?  What  a  contrast !  I  should  have  had 
my  portrait  taken — just  so.  There !  with  that 
ringlet  hanging — so — and  the  lace  brought  down  a 
little  in  the  front — a  la  Marie  Stuart — so.  There 
— the  Countess  Clairmont!  with  the  drapery  over 
the  arm,  and  the  eyes  lifted — thus." 

The  reflection  of  another  figure  in  the  glass 
caused  her  to  start  with  a  slight  scream. 

"Good  heavens,  Edward,  how  you  frightened 
me  !  Is  that  you  ?" 

"  Why,  who  the  devil  should  it  be  ?"  replied  the 
husband;  "and  what  are  you  at  there,  parading 
before  the  glass,  like  a  tragedy  queen  ?" 

"I  was — I  was  trying  on  my  cap;  but  you 
startled  me  so !  You  are  always  so  rough,  Ed- 
ward." 

"  I  am  not,"  replied  he. 

"You  are.  I  am  not.  Get  me  some  tea," 
flinging  himself  heavily  down  on  the  sofa ;  "  I'm 
tired." 

_  *  Yes,  dear  Edward,  instantly,"  said  the  affec- 
tionate wife,  passing  her  arm  tenderly  around  his 
shoulder. 


NORMAN    LESLIE. 


"  Then  why  the  devil  don't  you  go  ?" 

"  I  have  already  rung  for  it    You  always  come 

home  as  cross  as — " 

The  husband  swore.     The  wife  sighed.     James 

brought  the  tea.  £  -far  '\-w<-  &#  '/ 

Oh,  matrimony  !  thoa»**dt»P*»  *^-t 
But  they  are  waiting  for  us  at  the  Temples'. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


A  New-  York  Rout — And  a  nearer  View  of  several 
Characters. 


"  For  my  mind  misgives, 
Some  consequence  yet  hanging  in  the  stars 
Shall  bitterly  begin  his  fearful  date 
With  this  night's  revels." 

Romeo  and  Juliet. 


THE  company  were  assembled  by  ten  ^  not  all, 
but  nearly  twice  as  many  as  could  press  at  one 
time  into  the  ample  and  splendid  apartments. 

A  fashionable  New-York  mansion  is  not  sur-1 
passed  anywhere  in  graceful  elegance  and  com- 
plete comfort.  There  were  many  rooms  blazing 
with  light.  The  opening  hall  was  carpeted  with  oil- 
cloth, of  such  rich  figures  and  glossy  smoothness  as 
resembled  the  pictured  marble  floors  of  Italian 
palaces ;  but  the  stairs  and  drawing-rooms,  in- 
stead of  being,  like  those  of  many  European  nobles, 
of  cold  marble  or  naked  granite,  were  thickly  cov- 
ered with  the  most  gorgeous  carpets.  But  few 
paintings  and  statues  graced  the  walls.  There 
was,,  however*  a  profusion  of  immense  mirrors, 


44  NORMAN    LESLIE- 

marble  tables,  curtains  of  crimson  velvet  studded 
with  gold,  vases,  urns,  and  jars  of  rare  flowers ; 
exquisitely  wrought  lamps,  dispensing  a  soft  and 
veiled  radiance,  like  moonlight,  from  large  globes, 
sometimes  stained  with  deeply-coloured  pictures, 
and  sometimes  of  a  frosty  white ;  couches,  otto- 
mans, and  sofas  of  embroidered  satin;  and  a  variety 
of  such  other  costly  objects  as  could  be  obtained 
by  wealth  from  any  part  of  the  world  for  the  indul- 
gence of  pride  or  the  gratification  of  luxury.  The 
ballustrades  of  the  steps  which  led  to  the  upper 
apartments  were  of  beautifully  carved  mahogany, 
stained  with  the  rich  colour  of  a  ripe  chestnut; 
and,  by  means  of  secret  apertures,  invisible  fires 
diffused  through  the  corridors  a  mild  warmth,  per- 
mitting all  the  interior  doors  of  the  house  to  stand 
open,  without  afflicting  even  the  sensitive  victims 
of  rheumatism  or  toothache  with  the  horrors  of  a 
draught. 

Immediately  on  their  arrival,  the  guests  were 
ushered  into  'separate  apartments  above,  where, 
according  to  their  sex,  they  re-arranged  their  toi- 
let, which  even  the  motion  of  a  carriage  might 
have  disturbed.  Here,  previous  to  their  entrance, 
floated  groups  of  syrphs  and  syrens,  to  reclaim  a 
wandering  curl  or  replant  a  drooping  rose.  Then 
the  gentlemen's  apartment — the  extraordinary 
preparations  to  be  elegant — the  collars  bent  to  the 
precise  angle — the  cravats  tied  in  the  exquisite 
knot — the  shining  feet — the  curled  heads — the 
crooked  elbows — the  audacious  whiskers.  Cupid, 
hast  thou  no  pity  ?  There  is  nothing  so  merciless 
as  a  fop. 

The  two  principal  saloons  were  thrown  into  one, 
by  means  of  the  immense  double  doors  of  glassy 
mahogany.  A  band  of  musicians,  stationed  in  an 
adjoining  hall,  ever  and  anon  breathed  a  low  air 
that  banished  eare  and  gravity,  inspired  wit  and 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  45 

pleasure,  and  animated  rather  than  interrupted 
conversation. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  apartment  stood  Mrs. 
Temple ;  her  majestic  figure  multiplied  in  the 
mirrors, — her  face,  always  a  radiant  one,  now 
glowing  with  pride  and  conscious  beauty.  A 
coronet  of  diamonds  on  her  queenly  brow  flashed, 
burned,  and  trembled  with  every  motion  in  the 
light ;  and  above  nodded  a  snowy  plume.  She 
looked  thus,  in  her  glory,  like  the  rising  sun. 

By  her  side  stood  Flora ;  not  so  tall  as  her 
mother,  nor  so  commanding,  but  yet  invested  by 
the  charm  of  youthful  loveliness  with  more  direct 
power  over  the  feelings.  For  her  style  of  beauty, 
she  was  admirably  dressed  in  simple  white ;  her 
hair  parted  plainly  on  her  forehead,  and  a  rose, 
fresh  culled  from  nature,  the  only  ornament  of  her 
strikingly  beautiful  head.  Venus  might  have  so 
stood  by  Juno. 

It  was  a  study  to  see  Mrs.  Temple  "  receive  :" 
that  stately  air — that  gracious  recognition  and 
graceful  acknowledgment — the  ready  word — the 
quick  repartee — the  brilliant  smile — the  beaming 
look. 

Then  Flora — without  any  of  that  dramatic  effect 
— more  reserved — more  natural — more  lovely — 
growing  like  a  Guido  on  the  contemplation — more 
difficult  to  imitate  and — to  forget. 

Had  the  proud  dame  known  her  true  moral  glory 
that  night,  she  would  have  attached  no  value  to  the 
splendour  which  surrounded  her,  but  triumphed 
alone,  conspicuous  and  envied  as  the  mother  of 
Flora  Temple. 

The  rooms  were  filled — the  halls — the  steps 
before  the  door.  Family  after  family  of  the  very 
highest  ton  (and  are  there  not  the  loftiest  exclusives 
in  a  republic  ?)  came  pouring  up.  Wealthy  mer- 
chants— -eminent  counsellors,  just  from  profound 


46  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

tomes,  gladly  escaped  to  this  scene  of  light  and 
joy — astute  judges,  who  had  perhaps  recently  sealed 
the  fate  of  wretched  criminals,  chatted  with  the 
bright-eyed  girls,  and  sipped  their  coffee  to  dulcet 
music — physicians,  from  the  death-bed  of  the  dying 
or  the  dead — distinguished  members  of  Congress — 
ex-governors  and  bank-directors — popular  authors 
(for  even  America  began  to  have  popular  authors) 
— elegants — beaux-esprits — and  "  young  men  of 
talent"  by  the  score — and  iions  in  such  plenty  that 
they  were  in  each  other's  way; — all  mingled  in  the 
enchanting  tide  of  sparkling  pleasure  and  radiant 
beauty.  The  waltz — that  airy  child  of  fashion  and 
caprice — even  here,  where  the  pioneerhad  scarcely 
flung  his  axe,  floated  like  a  zephyr,  though,  truth  to 
say,  within  a  sadly  circumscribed  compass — music 
breathed — champaign  exploded.  The  pressure  for 
pleasuro  grew  greater  and  more  insupportable — • 
the  sides  of  the  obese  were  penetrated  by  the 
elbows  of  the  enthusiastic.  The  gentlemen  were 
wedged  in  closely,  with  one  hand  and  an  opera-hat 
above -their  head — imperial  carpets  were  soaked 
with  wasted  wine — each  charming  mouth  dropped 
words  of  wit  and  mirth — those  who  were  out 
pressed  to  get  in — those  who  were  in  pressed  to 
get  out — the  roar  of  new  carriages  thundered  at 
the  door,  and — what  is  there  after  all  like  a  rout? 
But,  heavens  !  what  a  voice !  what  loveliness ! 
what  execution  !  A  young  girl,  of  peculiar  grace 
and  beauty,  ran  her  slender  fingers  rapidly  over  the 
keys  of  a  piano,  and  sang  with  such  tones  of  sweet- 
ness that  the  auditors  almost  ceased  to  breathe.  A 
difficult  and  brilliant  bravura  elicited  from  every 
lip  repeated  and  irrepressible  exclamationsof  delight 
and  pleasure.  They  had  not  yet  died  away,  when 
a  plaintive  ballad,  simple  as  the  murmurs  of  a 
running  brook,  and  soft  as  the  voice  of  the  dove 
mourning  her  mate  in  the  forest,  once  more  hushed 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  47 

every  sound  and  touched  every  heart,  till  the  last 
sweet  note,  melting  away,  left  a  general  pause — 
the  truest  tribute  of  praise. 

"  Who  is  she?"  cried  one. 

"  Who  can  she  be  ?"  exclaimed  another. 

It  was  old  Mr.  Romain's  daughter.  Every  one 
knew  old  Mr.  Remain. 

If  any  thing  can  heighten  the  spell  of  good  wine, 
it  is  music  a  little  while  after.  If  any  thing  can 
extract  from  music  its  last  alloy  of  earth,  and  leave 
it  purely  an  ethereal  rapture,  it  is  good  wine  a  little 
while  before. 

"  By  heavens,"  said  Albert  Moreland,  "  this  is 
wonderful ! — Norman,  did  you  ever  hear  such 
sounds?" 

"  Many  a  time  and  oft,"  replied  Leslie,  with  in- 
difference. 

Rosalie  Remain  was  the  centre  of  all  eyes  ;  even 
Flora  stood  by  almost  unobserved.  Never  was 
collected  a  fairer  array  than  shone  here  to-night, 
and  none  so  marked  as  Rosalie  Remain.  Her 
beauty  was  indeed  of  a  kind  to  bewilder  the  un- 
wary. Her  person  was  graceful  and  majestic,  and 
somewhat  above  the  ordinary  stature.  A  warm 
and  passionate  languor  was  felt  in  her  manner  and 
expression ;  except  at  times,  when  suddenly  excited 
to  peculiarly  winning  loveliness  and  naivete.  Eyes 
large  and  dark — a  set  of  pearly  teeth — a  bewitching 
smile — the  most  engaging  air — and  a  voice  that 
might  sound  ihe  alarm  to  the  heart  of  a  cynic, 
invested  her  with  uncommon  powers  of  allurement. 
She  was  peculiarly  favoured,  too,  with  a  complexion 
of  such  transparent  brightness,  lips  so  red  and 
pouting,  and  cheeks  so  fresh  and  rosy,  as  would 
have  imparted  a  character  of  beauty  to  features 
much  less  intrinsically  perfect. 

"  What,  Norman,  silent !"  cried  Moreland  again 
to  the  young  man  whom  he  had  previously  ad- 


48  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

dressed,  who  was  rather  gravely  regarding  Miss 
Romain,  while  others  could  not  find  words  to  praise 
her  sufficiently ;  "  and,  now  1  remember,  this  en- 
chantress the  world  has  given  to  you.  Is  it  not  so, 
Miss  Temple?" 

"Even  so,  Mr.  Moreland,"  answered  Flora,  with 
a  smile  ;  "  and  a  more  elegant  girl  Mr.  Leslie  could 
scarcely  desire." 

Leslie  coloured  in  some  confusion. 

"  See,"exclaimed  Moreland,  "the  guilty  wretch  !" 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  said  Leslie,  "  you  do  me  totf 
much  honour." 

"Nay,  but  I  saw,"  said  Moreland,  "even  this 
minute — the  language  of  Miss  Romain's  eyes  is  not 
easily  to  be  mistaken ;  and  Mr.  Norman  Leslie 
himself,  for  all  his  present  gravity,  has  a  pair  of 
orbs  which  converse  indifferently  well.  Look  at 
them,  Miss  Temple." 

"  Nonsense,  it  is  untrue,"  said  Norman.  "  I 
solemnly  assure  you  it  is  untrue.  Miss  Temple, 
protect  me  from  the  raillery  of  this  sarcastic 
lawyer." 

"  I  must  reserve  my  forces,  Mr.  Leslie,  for  a 
juster  cause,"  replied  Miss  Temple,  smiling. 

"  There,  I  told  you  so,  Leslie  ;  Miss  Temple 
knows  it — I  know  it — everybody  knows  it." 

"  Albert,  upon  my  honour — " 

"  What,"  interrupted  Moreland, "  Norman  Leslie 

not  love  Rosalie  Romain  !    Why,  now  I  remember 

me,  I  have  myself  seen  a  copy  of  verses,  addressed 

by  N.  L.  to  R.  R.,  enough  to  make  stones  weep. 

I    hereby  formally  accuse  you  of  the  black  and 

dreadful,  and  very  uncommon,  crime  of  love." 

"  What  shall  be  the  penalty  ?"  asked  Norman. 

"  We  shall  be  obliged  to  procure  one  by  special 

act  of  Congress,"  replied  the  lawyer  quickly  ;  "for 

the  offence  is  so  heinous,  that,  like  parricide,  the 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  49 

legislator  might  well  forget  to  include  it  in  his 
code." 

"Whatever  it  may  be,"  said  Norman,  "the 
indictment  is  false." 

"  You  will  plead  guilty,  then,  to  flirtation  ? — re- 
member Congress  Hall." 

"  Of  flirtation,"  said  the  youth,  blushing  percep- 
tibly, "  perhaps  ;  but  if  that  is  a  crime,  I  have 
repented  and  done  penance — I  hold  myself  ab- 
solved." 

"  Jealousy  !"  said  Moreland :  "  the  dear  creatures 
have  quarrelled  ;  I  vow  I  will  bring  them  together. 
Miss  Temple  knows — " 

But  Miss  Temple  had  disappeared. 

"  Albert,"  said  Norman,  in  a  low  voice,  "  never 
again  jest  with  me  on  that  subject.  I  hate  that  girl — 
I  actually  hate  her.  She  is  the  wiliest  coquette 
that  ever  breathed.  I  did  think  once  I  loved  her ; 
her  beauty  and  winning  allurement  of  manner  fired 
my  boyish  feelings.  But  I  needed  only  a  slight 
experience  in  the  capacity  of  a  lover,  to  read  in 
her  actions  a  cold  heart* and  a  shallow  under- 
standing. She  is  vain,  proud,  and  silly ;  though 
brilliant,  accomplished,  and  lovely.  She  is  a  show 
— a  dazzle — a  bright  but  hollow  and  useless  mask, 
without  either  head  or  heart.  She  has  taught  me 
a  lesson  in  woman  which  I  shall  not  lightly  forget." 

"  But  I  see  you  with  her  often,  and  in  friend- 
ship," said  Moreland. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Norman,  laughing  ;  "  you 
would  not  have  me  challenge  her  ?  When  I  say 
hate,  I  mean  I  dislike  the  class  of  characters  to 
which  she  belongs.  Individually,  I  would  not  injure 
her  either  in  reputation  or  feelings.  She  is  a  gay, 
and  can  be  a  fascinating,  woman ;  and  perhaps 
I  am  somewhat  severe  upon  female  character. 
Besides,  the  world  has  placed  me  among  her  rejected 
lovers.  I  would  do  away  the  impression,  as  I  do 

VOL.  i. — E 


50  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

not  deserve  the  honour.  I  meet  her  often  in  society. 
We  have  had  no  definite  misunderstanding.  This 
change  in  my  sentiments  has  been  the  work  of 
silent  observation.  I  found  a  glittering  toy,  thought 
it  diamond — examined  it,  and  discovered  it  to  be 
but  common  glass.  Yet  I  do  not  wish,  and  indeed 
have  no  right,  to  withhold  from  her  the  civilities  due 
to  a  lady." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Moreland,  "  I  think  I  see 
through  all  this.  You  are  a  little  jealous.  That 
French  count,  who  has  set  the  whole  town 
crazy — " 

"  What !  that  Clairmont !"  interrupted  Norman, 
with  an  expression  of  contempt — "  that  idle  fop  ! 
that  vain  and  forward  coxcomb  !" 

"Ah!"  cried  Moreland,  "that  is  the  very  lan- 
guage of  the  green-eyed  monster." 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Norman,  "  I  would  attend  his 
union  with  Rosalie  Romain  as  cheerfully  as  you." 
"  But  you  will  not  have  an  opportunity,"  returned 
Moreland  ;  "I  have  myself,  to  be  sure,  remarked 
his  admiration  for  Miss  Romain." 
"  And  hers  for  him  ?" 

"  What  could  she  do,  Norman  ?  You  know,  in 
your  heart,  that  he  is  the  most  elegant  dog  in  the 
world,  and  turns  every  woman's  head  he  looks  at ; 
his  address — his  person — his  accomplishments — his 
fortune — the  exceeding  propriety  and  elegance  with 
which  he  speaks  the  English — his  high  rank — and 
that  guita)* !  and  he  has  nothing  on  earth  to  do  but 
to  idle  and  make  love.  The  girls  are  flattered — 
men  envious — husbands  look  on  him  obliquely — and 
lovers  (the  Lord  help  them  !)  are  jealous, — Mr. 
Norman  Leslie  among  the  rest.  But  hear  me  to 
the  close.  As  for  that  beautiful  creature  Miss 
Romain — why,  we  are  not  Turks — the  formidable 
rival  can  marrv  but  one— and  this  one  cannot  be 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  51 

Miss  Remain  ;  for,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  he  is 
paying  particular  attention  to — " 

"  And  so,  /am  to  take  the  lady  if  he  will  not !". 

"  Well,  well,  well,  Norman  !  you  need  not  flash 
your  eyes  so  sternly  on  me;  /am  not  a  count  in 
the  French  army." 

"  Nor  he  either,"  said  Leslie,  quickly,  and  in  a  low 
tone,  "  I'll  wager  my  life.  The  strongest  suspicions 
have  crossed  me.  You  know  how  he  appeared 
here — under  what  odd  circumstances  ;  his  baggage 
lost — his  boat  overturned — and  the  devil  to  pay  :  so 
that  he  might  or  he  might  not  be  what  he  professes. 
Count  or  no  count,  I  have  an  instinctive  and  an 
unconquerable  aversion  to  that  man.  I  have  noted 
trifles  in  him  which  argue  dark  things." 

"  Oh  ho  !"  said  Moreland,  laughing ;  "  what 
havoc  love  can  make  in  the  brain  of  a  sensible 
fellow  !  Here  you  are,  crammed  with  sentiment 
and  romance,  and  as  full  of  quarrel  '  as  my  young 
mistress's  dog !'  You  doubt,  the  honour  of  a  noble 
whom  no  one  else  could  dream  of  doubting,  and 
you  scornfully  dismiss  the  character  of  a  young 
girl  whom  all  the  rest  of  the  company  are  dying  in 
love  for.  '  Good  Heaven  !  the  souls  of  all  my  tribe 
defend  from  jealousy.' " 

"  Love  or  hate,"  said  Norman,  thoughtfully,  "  I 
do  not  like  this  sprig  of  foreign  nobility.  If  this  be 
the  stuff  of  European  nobles,  Heaven  send  that  they 
keep  hereafter  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  I  half 
fancy  sometimes  that  my  aversion  is  reciprocated ; 
and  I  have  a  gloomy  presentiment  that  we  shall 
one  day  cross  each  other." 

"  Heaven  forbid  !"  exclaimed  Moreland  ;  "you 
must  be  wary  how  you  approach  him,  for  his  anger 
is  no  jest.  He  is,  as  perhaps  you  know,  the  most 
deadly  shot  in  the  country :  this  is  the  most  con- 
spicuous among  his  accomplishments.  He  plants 
a  pistol-bullet  at  the  farthest  distance,  ten  times  out 


52  NORMAN    LESLIE- 

of  twelve,  upon  a  silver  sixpence.  I  have  seen  him 
do  it ;  and  they  do  say  that  he  has  no  desire 
whatever  to  keep  this  remarkable  skill  a  secret." 

"  Doubtless,"  replied  Norman  ;  "  he  fancies,  I 
suppose,  that  such  a  power  will  awe  the  plebeian 
crowd  whose  dinners  he  eats— whose  wives  and 
daughters  he  makes  love  to — " 

"  And  whose  matches  he  breaks  off,"  interrupted 
Moreland.  "  He  has  already,  as  you  know,  killed 
a  man  at  the  South ;  and,  'fore  Heaven,  I  believe 
that  is  one  reason  the  women  love  him  so." 

"  Is  there  a  character  on  earth,"  said  Norman, 
"  so  base  and  execrable  as  a  professed  shot  ?  It 
would  be  no  bad  deed  to  send  back  this  malapert 
poppinjay  with  a  broken  wing.  One  looks  without 
horror  at  the  worst  calamity  of  a  professed  duellist 
in  a  duel." 

"  What  a  husband  he  will  make  !"  said  Moreland  ; 
"  and  how  many  of  these  women  are  dying  for 
him  because  only  of  his  nickname — those  five 
cabalistic  letters  which  compose  the  word  count ! 
Yet,  truth  to  say,  he  is  an  elegant  fellow." 

"  I  wish  Miss  Romain  no  worse  fate,"  answered 
Norman,  "  than  success  in  her  evident  designs  to 
entrap  him." 

"  And  you  are  really  off  there,  then  ?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Albert,  if  this  bright-lipped  girl  who 
enchants  these  people  here  so  to-night,  with  the 
wealth  of  Cro3sus,  were  to  be  had  for  the  asking, 
and  Flora  Temple  without  friend  or  fortune  were 
to  be  wooed  and  won  by  perseverance,  I  could 
rather  choose  the  latter,  and  live  with  her  in  a 
desert,  than  trust  my  happiness  with  yonder  un- 
feeling flirt.  As  for  the  Frenchman,  1  wish  him 
success — they  are  fit  for  each  other ;  and  the  Lord 
help  them,  say  I,  by  their  winter  fireside." 

"Phoo!  phoo!"  said  Moreland,  "such  people 
have  no  winter  fireside ;  they  live  in  the  world  and 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  53 

for  it,  and  not  for  each  other,  nor  with  each  other  : 
and,  between  you  and  me,  dear  Norman,  I  am  glad, 
and  so  will  Mary  be,  that  you  have  escaped  from 
this  syren  ;  but  then,  as  I  live,  it's  Flora  Temple." 

"  No,  Albert — no  !"  replied  Norman,  rather 
hastily  ;  and  then  falling  into  a  more  contemplative 
manner — "  Flora  Temple  is  not  for  me  neither. 
She  is  one  of  your  intellectual  women — a  passion- 
less, self-possessed,  unloving  nature — soft  and  win- 
ning, I  grant,  but  without  warmth.  She  has  a 
heart,  doubtless,  but  it  is  not  formed  for  love.  No 
gentle  thought-wanderings — no  fond  wishes  or 
alarms  ;  you  never  saw  a  cloud  or  a  flush  upon  her 
brow.  I  am  sure  she  would  ridicule  a  lover  to 
death.  I  like  a  woman  with  a  soul.  Some  rich 
automaton,  with  all  the  external  trappings  of  dignity 
and  fashion,  will  marry  her,  just  when  mamma  says, 
ere  the  bloom  of  bellehood  has  passed  utterly  away. 
She  will  not  resist ;  she  will  have  no  reason  for 
resistance,  for  she  will  adapt  herself  to  the  caprices 
of  one  man  as  well  as  of  another.  There  will 
be  a  wedding-company — calls — cards — and  jams; 
ices  will  be  eaten — champaign  spilt — compli- 
ments paid ;  there  will  be  blushes,  smiles,  wishes, 
witticisms,  and  congratulations  ;  years  will  roll  on, 
and  Mistress  Flora,  whatever  her  name  may  be, 
will  bud  and  bloom,  fade  and  fall — a  good  wife, 
an  exemplary  mother,  and — I  heartily  hope — an 
indulgent  and  contented  grandmamma.  She  will 
live  and  die — be  mourned  and  forgotten,  all  in  the 
forms  and  fashions  prescribed  by  propriety  and 
custom  ;  and  there  will  be  the  end  of  her.  I  hate 
cold  women,  and  Miss  Temple  is  cold  as  ice." 

Poor  Flora  !     How  he  slandered  her  ! 

The  two  friends  parted  ;  and  Norman  followed 
the  tide  as  it  flowed  around  the  room,  sometimes 
pausing  to  address  an  acquaintance,  sometimes  to 
exchange  a  word  with  a  belle. 
E  2 


54  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Leslie,"  cried  Miss  Remain,  "yotz 
come  opportunely.  Here  are  Miss  Morton  and 
myself  actually  deserted,  wandering  about  like 
two  princesses  of  romance.  You  are  a  true 
knight-errant,  and  shall  be  our  champion." 

"  Happy  chance  !"  replied  Leslie,  extending  his 
arms ;  and  they  accompanied  him  on  his  rounds. 

"  Dear  me !"  cried  Miss  Morton,  "  I  thought 
Count  Clairmont  was  to  be  here.  It  is  now  twelve 
o'clock." 

"He  never  comes  till  late  when  he  means  to 
remain,"  said  Miss  Romain ;  "  but,  favoured  as  we 
are,  I  had  quite  forgotten  him,"  added  she,  looking 
expressively  at  Norman.  "Come,  Mr.  Leslie,  for 
mercy's  sake  say  something;  youirre  as  dull  as  a 
philosopher." 

"  I  am  a  philosopher,  Miss  Romain,"  said  Nor- 
man, gravely. 

"  Since  when,  pray  I  and  wherefore,  my  noble 
knight  ?"  asked  Miss  Romain,  again  looking  up 
familiarly  in  his  face,  and  hanging  on  his  arm  as  a 
happy  wife  might  lean  on  the  support  of  a  loving 
husband. 

*'  All  men — that  is,  all  wise  men,"  pursued  the 
youth,  "grow  philosophical  as  they  grow  old  ;  and 
one  surely  needs  philosophy  when  danger  hangs 
on  either  arm,  and  looks  him  in  the  face." 

"Meaning  us!  well,  that  is  about  as  inappro- 
priate a  speech  for  a  philosopher,"  said  Miss  Ro- 
main, "  as  I  ever  heard.  Did  you  hear,  Maria,  his 
pretty  speech  ?" 

"Yes,  often.  To-day,  when  he  called  at  our 
house—" 

"  Called— who  called  ?" 

"  Why,  the  count.  Dear  me  !  you  were  speak- 
ing of  Count  Clairmont,  were  you  not  ?" 

"  There  must  be  two  philosophers  in  our  circle," 
said  Miss  Romain  to  Leslie,  with  a  significant 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  55 

smile,  and  in  a  whisper,  which  again  brought  her 
mouth  almost  against  his  own.  Her  languishing 
eyes  were  lifted  to  his ;  he  felt  her  breath  on  his 
cheek.  At  this  moment  his  glance  encountered 
that  of  Miss  Temple  ;  her  gaze  was  calm  as  a  sis- 
ter's. Why  did  a  feeling  of  disquietude — of  con- 
fusion— shoot  through  his  heart  ? 

A  few  moments  after,  his  gay  companions  were 
called  away  to  the  dance,  and  he  was  left  again 
alone.  As  he  stood,  his  eye,  involuntarily  passing 
over  the  varied  assembly  of  countenances,  sought 
out  and  reposed  on  the  face  of  Miss  Temple. 

"After  all,  how  much  more  truly  beautiful  she 
is !" — thus  the  youth  thought,  as  he  stole  his  unob- 
served study  of  her  features — "how  much  more 
noble  and  wife-like  than  Rosalie  !"  As  he  gazed, 
the  rose  which  ornamented  her  hair  fell  unnoticed ; 
he  picked  it  up. 

"  Miss  Temple,  you  have  dropped  your  rose ; 
allow  me."  She  reached  forth  her  hand,  received 
it  with  a  graceful  acknowledgment,  and  was  about 
placing  it  in  her  hair.  What  would  he  not  have 
given  to  place  it  there  himself!  He  never  saw 
her  look  so  serenely,  so  perfectly  lovely. 

"  Why,  Leslie !"  exclaimed  the  brother  of  Miss 
Morton — a  handsome  young  fop,  with  his  hair 
curled  profusely  around  his  forehead — and  bowing 
low  with  the  conscious  elegance  of  a  compliment, 
"  your  heart  must  be  marble  !  Had  that  fair  trib- 
ute fallen  to  me,  I  should  have  cherished  it  as  a 
relic  out  of  Holy  Land." 

How  often  it  happens  that  the  bosom  struggling 
with  pure  feeling  is  denied  the  power  of  expressing 
it ;  while  nature  gives  the  envied  eloquence  to  the 
careless  and  the  gay,  who  neither  know  how  to 
value  nor  how  to  use  it. 

"  If  you  esteem  the  poor  rose  so  highly,  Mr. 


56  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

Morton,"  said  Flora,  "  pray  take  it.  Perhaps  rt 
will  be  as  potent  as  other  relics." 

Morton  bowed ;  received  the  flower — kissed  it 
— and  placed  it  in  his  bosom.  That  careless  act 
of  Flora's  cost  him  a  heartache.  Norman  knew 
the  simple  youth,  and  smiled. 

"  What  a  fine  creature,  Leslie — hey  ?"  said  Mor- 
ton, affectedly,  a  few  moments  afterward.  "  But 
don't  deduce  any  false  conclusions  from  this  kind- 
ness of  hers  to  me.  It  is  mere  civility  on  her 
part ;  nothing  more,  upon  honour.  But  she  is  a 
splendid  article,  I  declare — isn't  she  ?  Halloo  ! 
who  is  that  dashing  fellow  with  her  ?" 

"  Count  Clairmont,"  said  his  sister.  "  Now,  just 
as  if  you  did  not  know  the  count,  and  he  at  our 
house  every  day  of  his  life  !" 

"  Why,  so  it  is  I"  exclaimed  Morton.  "  Well,  I 
never — I  did  not  know  him  with  his  back  turned, 
I  declare.  He's  a  fine-looking  fellow,  though — isn't 
he  !  And  how  he  does  dress.  Did  you  ever  !  How 
he  talks  and  laughs  to  Flora— don't  he !  Why, 
he'll  get  her  for  the  next  cotillon — won't  he  ?  and 
I  have  very  particular  reasons  for  wishing  to  dance 
with  her  myself.  Excuse  me,  ladies  ;  by-by,  Les- 
lie. Why,  only  look  !  Ton  my  soul,  1  declare,  I 
never — " 

He  broke  away  abruptly  through  the  press. 
Leslie  saw  him  reach  the  spot  where  Flora  stood, 
and  bow  with  a  violent  and  rather  determined 
attempt  at  grace.  Flora's  slight  responsive  bend 
of  the  head  implied  assent ;  and  whatever  were 
the  "  very  particular  reasons"  for  Mr.  Morton's 
wish  to  dance  with  her,  they  were  now  to  be 
gratified. 

"  Come,  your  hand  for  this  cotillon,"  cried  How- 
ard to  Miss  Remain. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  answered  she. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  57 


"  That  is  saying  a  great  deal,"  said  Miss  Temple, 
with  an  arch  smile,  as  she  was  passing. 

Miss  Remain  blushed,  or  seemed  to  blush. 

"Gentlemen  will  please  take  their  partners," 
cried  the  manager  of  the  ball,  clapping  his  hands. 

The  field  was  now  much  clearer.  Some  had 
gone  off  into  the  card-rooms,  and  some  were  at 
the  bufet.  A  space  had  been  gradually  occupied 
by  the  dancers  sufficiently  large  to  enable  them  to 
walk  through  the  figures ;  and  a  group  of  girls 
ranged  themselves  in  their  places :  Howard  with 
Miss  Romain,  Morton  with  Miss  Temple,  and  the 
count  with  a  tall  young  lady  newly  out  from 
boarding-school — full  of  sentiment,  blushes,  and 
delight.  It  was  evident,  from  her  frequent  repeti- 
tion of  "  my  lord,"  that  the  phrase  was  a  favourite 
one,  and  redolent  of  recollections  of  Lord  Morti- 
mer and  other  heroes  of  circulating  libraries. 

"  How  uncommonly  lovely  the  American  women 
are,"  said  the  count. 

"  Oh  !  my  lord,"  with  a  slight  courtesy. 

"  When  I  was  in  Greece — " 

"  Have  you  really  been  in  Greece,  my  lord  ?" 

"  Why,  I  almost  lived  in  the  Parthenon." 

"  The  what,  my  lord  V 

"  The  Parthenon.  I  worshipped — I  was  fairly 
in  love  with  it." 

"  In  love?  oh,  my  lord  !"  and  the  blooming  young 
lady  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  blushed  decidedly. 

"  And,  as  I  was  saying,  there  was  a  young 
Greek  girl — " 

"  A  young  Greek  girl,  my  lord  ?" 

"  A  most  lovely  and  glowing  creature — " 

"  Oh  !  my  lord." 

"  And  she  was  very,  very  like  you." 

"  Dear  me,  my  lord  !  like  me  ?" 

"  You  have  the  same  expression  about  the  eyes ; 
and  the  mouth  has  the  same — " 


58  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"  Forward  two,  and  cross  over,"  cried  Miss  Ro- 
main :  "  why,  Miss  Thomson,  are  you  not  in  the 
cotillon  r 

Miss  Thomson  was  so  lost  in  conjecturing  what 
sort  of  an  expression  the  count  could  mean,  that 
she  missed  her  turn. 

"  We  have  such  delightful  weather,  Miss  Tem- 
ple," cried  Morton. 

"  Truly  charming,  Mr.  Morton.  Broadway 
was  brilliant  this  morning." 

« Indeed  !" 

"  I  never  saw  a  gayer  scene." 

"Ah!  really." 

"  There  is  a  new — " 

"  Miss  Temple,"  stammered  Morton,  apparently 
unconscious  that  he  interrupted  her. 

"  Mr.  Morton  !"  she  replied,  in  some  surprise  at 
the  extreme  embarrassment  which  had  suddenly 
come  over  him. 

"  I — I — I  was  going — to  beg — Miss  Temple — I 
was  going — I  was  going — " 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  go,"  said  Miss  Temple, 
unable  to  repress  a  smile ;  "  the  whole  cotillon 
waits  for  you." 

And  the  young  man  skipped  forward  and  hopped 
back  awkwardly,  blundering  through  the  figure 
with  a  burning  face.  The  count,  eying  through 
his  glass,  whispered  Miss  Thomson,  who  suddenly 
laughed  outright ;  but  covered  her  mouth  in  girlish 
confusion  with  her  folded  handkerchief. 

When  Morton  had  accomplished  his  manoeuvres 
with  a  secret  curse  upon  the  inventor  of  dancing, 
he  returned  with  redoubled  determination  to  strike 
the  blow.  Miss  Temple,  with  a  large  fortune  set- 
tled separately  upon  her,  and  with  yet  higher  ex- 
pectations from  parents,  uncles,  and  scores  of 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  59 

wealthy  relatives,  so  young,  so  gentle,  and  so  beau- 
tiful withal,  was  a  prize  indeed. 

"  I  was  about  to  say,  or  rather  to  ask,"  resumed 
Morton — "  to  ask  whether  your  affections — " 

"  My  what  /"  cried  Flora,  aloud,  and  really 
thrown  off  her  guard  by  this  sudden  sentimental 
turn  in  the  conversation. 

"  Hush,  for  heaven's  sake  !"  cried  Morton,  in  a 
vehement  whisper ;  and  he  was  then  compelled  to 
jump  forward  again. 

Miss  Temple  opened  her  large  blue  eyes  in  as- 
tonishment and  some  alarm.  But  the  last  thing  a 
modest  woman  thinks  of  a  man  is,  that  he  loves 
her — especially  when  such  a  sentiment  has  never 
entered  into  her  own  bosom.  She  continued  the 
dance  therefore  frankly,  not  fully  trusting  to  the 
evidence  of  her  ears,  with  an  inward  prayer  that 
the  palpable  squeeze  which  Morton  bestowed  on 
her  hand  might  be  the  result  of  awkwardness 
rather  than  of  intention.  She  saw,  however,  the 
full  necessity  of  being  on  her  guard ;  for  though 
no  one  could  ever  be  farther  removed  from  her 
"  affections"  than  Mr.  Frederick  Morton,  yet  she 
was  aware  that  mistakes  on  such  subjects  had 
happened  before,  and  might  again.  The  youth, 
half-desperate,  but  resolving  not  to  be  repulsed  by 
what  he  deemed  the  coquetries  and  caprices  of 
her  sex — building  largely  upon  the  rose  which  he 
had  ostentatiously  stuck  into  his  button-hole,  and 
at  heart  as  assured  as  Malvolio  that  his  mistress 
regarded  him  with  favouring  eyes — approached  her 
again,  and  with  a  decisive  resolution  in  his  manner 
said,  in  a  low  tone, — 

"  To  be  short  with  you,  Miss  Temple  (for  it  will 
be  time  to  forward  two  again  presently),  I  wish  to 
inquire— for  very  particular  reasons— whether — 
you  are  engaged  ?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Flora. 


60  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

"Miss  Temple  !"  exclaimed  Morton ;  "  I  declare 
— upon  my  soul — the  deepest  regret — " 

"  If  you  had  only  spoken  before,  Mr.  Morton," 
said  Flora. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Temple  !  may  I  ask— so  far— as  to 
inquire — to  whom  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  think  I  can  remember  their 
names  ;  but  I  am  engaged  to  several." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Flora  !  I  declare,"  said  Morton, "  my 
heart  is  relieved  from  a  whole  mountain." 

"  Heavens  !  Mr.  Morton,  a  whole  mountain ! 
That  must  be  a  very  great  relief." 

"  Very,"  said  Morton  ;  "  but  the  engagement  / 
meant — "  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast. 

"  Why,  Morton !"  said  the  count,  "  what  can  be 
the  matter  with  you  ?  forward,  my  good  sir — for- 
ward." 

And  the  disappointed  lover  sachezed  forward 
with  a  rueful  countenance,  inwardly  vowing  ven- 
geance against  the  count,  and  scarcely  knowing 
whether  he  was  on  his  head  or  his  heels.  He  cut 
a  pigeon- wing  at  the  end  of  the  figure,  and  again 
approached  his  mistress  with  a  more  collected  and 
bolder  mind. 

«« Miss  Temple,"  he  cried,  "  my  feelings—" 

The  sudden  cessation  of  the  music  here  ren- 
dered the  two  last  words  rather  more  distinctly 
audible  than  the  susceptible  speaker  intended. 
Flora  actually  blushed  ;  for  it  was  evident  that  so 
pathetic  an  exclamation  could  scarcely  be  the  be- 
ginning of  a  conversation,  and,  by  the  surprise 
manifested  in  their  countenances,  it  was  clear  that 
many  of  the  bystanders  had  heard  it.  Howard, 
who  was  standing  near,  seized  the  unfortunate 
Morton  with  his  thumb  and  finger  by  the  lappel  of 
his  coat,  gazed  into-  his  face  with  a  look  of  bur- 
lesque sympathy,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Your  feelings,  Mr.  Morton  ?  you  don't  say  so  !" 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  61 

"I  do  believe,  my  lord,"  said  Miss  Thomson, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  has  just  discovered  and  is 
considerably  astounded  by  an  extraordinary  secret 
— "  I  do  believe,  my  lord,  that  Mr.  Morton  has 
been  making  love" 

"  You  are  with  me  for  the  next  cotillon.  Miss 
Temple?"  cried  the  count. 

"  It  is  of  no  use,"  muttered  Morton  ;  "  I  declare 
— I  never — that  infernal  count  in  the  French  army  ! 
But  /?  11  teach  him — "  and  his  passions  were  really 
inflamed  by  beholding  his  rival  basking  in  the 
smile  of  the  delightful  girl  whom,  in  the  language 
of  the  novelists,  he  wished  one  day  to  "  make 
his." 

After  the  cotillon,  the  count  resigned  Flora  and 
took  her  mother.  Mr.  Temple  was  in  another 
room  at  the  whist-table.  What  those  husbands' 
hearts  are  made  of! 

"  Count !"  said  Mrs.  Temple. 

**  Dear  madam  ?" 

"  You  have  been  dancing  with  Flora." 

"  An  angel !" 

"Is  she  not?  and  just  as  pure  and  amiable  as 
she  is  lovely." 

"  When  I  was  in  Vienna,"  said  the  count,  with 
his  hand  on  his  cravat,  "  I  knew  a  young  duch- 
ess—" 

"  Like  Flora  ?" 

"  Not  half  so  distinguee,  but  still  like  her." 

"  Well !" 

"  I  knew  her — I  admired — and — " 

"  And  you  loved — " 

"  No,  I  could  not  love ;  because — although  the 
lady  herself  was  kind  enough — yet  she  had  not  that 
sense — that  soul — that  radiance  of  mind,  if  I  may 
say  so,  which  Flora  has." 

"  Would  they  admire  Flora  at  Vienna  ?" 

VOL.  i. — r 


£2  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

«'  She  would  turn  their  heads." 

«And  they  hers." 

«  What  a  sensation  she  would  produce  at  court ! 

"I  have  half  a  mind  to  let  her  go." 

"  Do !     Let  me  take  her." 

"  But  what  should  1  do  without  her?" 

"Come  you  with  us,  and  see  the  great  world." 

"  One  never  knows  when  you  are  in  earnest, 
count." 

'•  You  are  looking  splendidly  to-night,"  said  he, 
half-whispering  in  her  ear. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  she,  tapping  him  on  the  shoul- 
der with  her  fan. 

"  With  you  two,  your  country  would  be  well 
represented  at  any  court  in  Europe." 

u  Ah  !  you  men  !  What  can  silly  girls  do,  when 
we  women  let  you  talk  so  !" 

"  I  could  worship  Flora  to-nighl,"  he  said,  in  a 
yet  lower  tone  ;  "  only — " 

"Only  what?" 

Again  he  half- whispered  in  her  ear. 

"  Go,"  she  exclaimed,  tapping  him  once  more 
with  her  fan — "  go ;  you  are  positively  dan- 
gerous." 

She  left  him  as  she  spoke,  and  the  last  words 
were  uttered  looking  back. 

"  But  where  is  Flora  ?"  said  Mrs.  Temple. 

Flora  had  disappeared. 

In  the  midst  of  the  gayety  and  flash  of  the  revel, 
a  servant  entered  with  a  note  for  Mr.  Leslie. 

"  By  your  leave,  fair  wax,"  said  the  youth. 

A  few  lines  were  scrawled  in  evident  haste — 
"  Urgent  affair — without  a  moment's  delay — at  the 
B.  Hotel — 'room  No.  39 — up-stairs — wait  with  im- 
patience— particulars  when  we  :meet — Yours  till 
death — Frederick  Morton." 


NORMAN    LESLIE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  ludicrous  Incident,  which,  as  ludicrous  Incidents  often  dot 
grows  more  serious  towards  the  close. 


"  He  is  a  devil  in  a  private  brawl :  souls  and  bodies  hath  he 
divorced  three."  Twelfth  Night. 

WHEN  Leslie  reached  the  B.  Hotel,  which  was 
about  one  minute's  walk  from  Mrs.  Temple's,  he 
was  ushered  by  a  man  in  waiting  to  "  No.  39,  up- 
stairs ;"  where  he  found  Morton,  with  his  hands 
thrust  into  his  pantaloons  pocket,  pacing,  with  long 
strides,  to  and  fro  across  the  floor,  half  beside  him- 
self with  passion. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  Leslie,"  he  cried,  grasp- 
ing his  hand  with  strong  emotion — "  thank  you,  my 
dear  fellow.  I  declare  !  you  are  a  brave  man  and 
a  true  friend." 

"  You  have  not  called  me,  I  trust,  to  the  B.  Hotel, 
'room  No.  39,  up-stairs,'  merely  to  tell  me  that?" 
said  Leslie,  smiling. 

"  No,  my  dear  boy ;  that  puppy — that  coward 
— that  insolent — impudent — impertinent — " 

Tears  of  rage  spoke  what  simple  adjectives  could 
not  express. 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  that  d d  French  count." 

"What,  Clairmont?" 

"You  know  the  scoundrel  makes  love  to  all  the 
women  in  town,  without  reference  to  age,  size,  or 


64  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

situation.     For  the  last  week  he  has  taken  my 

sister—" 

*    "Well." 

"  She  is  already  crazy  about  him,  and  puts  on 
airs  as  if  she  were  a  countess.  We  did  think  he 
was  going  to  marry  her  quite,  but — (by  heavens !  if 
/had  him  here — )" 

"  Well,  well,  my  good  fellow,  go  on." 

"  This  night  his  lordship  (/'//  lordship  him  /)  has 
paid  such  marked  attention  to  Flora  Temple,  that, 
as  a  brother,  I  was  compelled  to  resent  it."  He 
raised  his  chin  a  little  in  the  air,  and,  lowering  his 
voice,  added,  "  Besides  other  very  particular  rea- 
sons concerning  Flora  herself." 

"  Other  reasons !  why,  what  is  Miss  Temple  to 
you  ?" 

"That"  very  emphatic,  "you  will  know  pres- 
ently." 

"And  how  did  you  resent  it?" 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Morton,  "  I  gave  him 
a  look — you  should  have  seen  me — such  a  look  ! 
Even  that  alone,  if  he  has  the  soul  of  a  hare,  he 
must  notice.  Besides — " 

"  But  he  has  not  the  soul  of  a  hare.  He  is  a  very 
brave  man.  He  is  a  lion.  He  is  a  perfect  devil," 
said  Norman. 

"I'll  have  satisfaction,  notwithstanding,"  cried 
Morton. 

"  Satisfaction  !"  echoed  Leslie ;  "I  do  not  know 
what  you  call  satisfaction,  but  are  you  aware  that 
he  is  a  dead  shot?" 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  said  Morton,  turning  slightly 
pale,  and  his  boisterous  fury  undergoing  a  sensible 
abatement. 

"  He  can  snuff  a  candle  ten  times  in  succession," 
said  Norman,  dryly. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !" 

"  He  can  shoot  a  bullet  out  of  one  pistol  into  the 
muzzle  of  another." 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  65 

"  Good  God  !  Now,  Leslie,  you  are  joking  ;  you 
are,  I  declare." 

"  Not  joking  in  the  least,"  replied  Norman  ;  "  did 
you  never  hear  of  the  French  general  whom  he 
killed  one  morning,  before  breakfast,  for  looking 
under  the  veil  of  a  Veronese  lady  he  was  in  love 
with  ?" 

"  Never,  as  I  am  alive,  I  do  declare." 

"  But  you  are  not  alive — you  are  a  dead  man — 
you  might  as  well  leap  into  the  crater  of  a  volcano 
as  go  a  step  farther  in  this  business.  Then  there's 
the  duel  at  the  South — have  you  forgotten  that  ?" 

"  He  shot  his  man  there,  too,  didn't  he  ?" 

"  Directly  through  the  heart,"  said  Norman.  "I 
trust  in  heaven,  Morton,  you  have  not  done  any 
thing  worse  than  look  at  him." 

"Yes,  but  I  have,  though,"  answered  Morton, 
now  actually  frightened  at  the  recollection  of  his 
own  audacity  ;  "  I  brushed  against  him  particularly 
as  I  came  out,  in  the  presence  of  Flora." 

"  You  are  a  dead  man,"  said  Norman. 

"  Well,  now,  I  declare  that  is  exceedingly  dis- 
agreeable." 

"  You  will  receive  a  challenge  before  morning." 

"  And  here  it  comes,"  cried  the  astounded  young 
man  ;  again  turning  pale,  as  a  servant  entered,  and 
handed  him  a  note. 

"  Take  it,  Leslie." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Leslie  ;  "  he  is  elegant  in 
his  indignation, — rose  paper — a  cameo  seal — '  Mr. 
Frederick  Morton— B.  Hotel,  room  No.  39.'  Why, 
this  is  a  female  hand  ;  and  if  I  could  credit  my 
own  eyes  I  should  pronounce  it — " 

".  It  is  no  challenge,"  said  the  relieved  lover,, 
blushing,  and  brightening  up.  "  Give  it  me.  A 
challenge,  indeed  !  I  should  like  to  catch  him  at  it. 
I  knew  it  was  not.  It  is  from  Flora." 

"  Flora,  again  !     Flora  Temple— and  to  y<w*  I"1 


66  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"  Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Norman  Leslie.  Is  there 
any  thing  so  very  extraordinary  in  that  ?  We  men, 
you  know  !  Hey,  my  boy  ?  Now  mum,  and  you 
shall  hear.  There  is  more  in  this  world  than  is 
dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy." 

"  There  is,  indeed,"  said  Norman,  lifting  his  eyes 
in  astonishment. 

"Be  mute,  then,"  rejoined  Morton,  "  and  be  in- 
structed." 

"  Is  it  possible  !"  thought  Norman,  musing,  while 
Morton  threw  his  eyes  over  the  letter.  "  What, 
Flora — Flora  Temple !  the  high,  the  accomplished, 
the  gifted  !  Who  shall  read  woman  !" 

"  Fire  and  thunder !"  cried  Morton.  "  Death 
and  fury !  Leslie,  a  flirt,  by  heavens  !  You  yourself 
saw — "  and  the  agitated  and  enraged  youth  crushed 
the  letter  in  his  hand,  stamped  his  foot,  and  leaned 
his  forehead  upon  his  clenched  fist. 

"  What  is  if,  Morton  ?  what  is  it,  my  good  fel- 
low?" asked  Norman,  really  pitying  his  dilemma, 
but  with  the  greatest  difficulty  repressing  a  smile  ; 
for,  however  severe  may  be  the  pang  inflicted,  a 
rejected  lover  has  but  a  slender  chance  of  sym- 


pathy. 
"Les 


jslie,"  said  Morton,  apparently  swallowing, 
or  rather  gulping  down,  his  disappointment  with  a 
ludicrous  effort,  and  one  or  two  bitter  contortions 
of  countenance — "  Leslie,  my  dear  fellow,  it  is  a — 
that  is — in  short — it  is  nothing — a  mere  joke ;"  he 
forced  an  unhappy  laugh ;  "  but — it  all  comes,"  and 
he  set  his  teeth,  "  I  know  it  all  comes  from  that 
d d  French  count—" 

"  Don't  swear,"  said  a  third  voice. 

"  Halloo  !  who  the  devil's  that  ?"  cried  Morton. 

"  The  d d  French  count,  at  your  service,  Mr. 

Frederick  Morton,"  said  Clairmont,  who  had  en- 
tered unperceived,  and  now  stood,  his  arms  folded, 
a  cool  sneer  on  his  lip,  and  his  eyes  sternly  fixed 
upon  Morton. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  67 

"Well,  sir,"  demanded  Morton, starting  up, and 
assuming  a  blustering  air  and  attitude,  "  by  what 
authority,  sir,  do  you  intrude  yourself  into  my 
room,  sir? — this  is  my  room,  sir,  while  I  am  in  it. 
I  command  you  to  leave  it,  sir — this  instant,  sir  !" 
he  made  a  motion  of  his  head  to  Norman,  as  if  call- 
ing upon  his  attestation  to  his  courage,  which,  in 
fact,  seemed  not  a  little  to  surprise  himself. 

"  I  will  leave  the  room,  Master  Morton,"  re- 
plied the  count,  coldly,  "  when  I  have  accomplished 
the  purpose  which  brought  me  into  it."  At  the 
same  moment  he  discovered  a  riding-whip,  which 
he  held  in  his  hand.  "  You  owe  your  life  to  Miss 
Temple." 

"  Leave  the  room,  sir  !" 

"  She  observed  your  rudeness  to  me  as  you 
came  out,  and  laid  me  under  an  obligation  not  to 
pursue  it,  as  I  should  deem  myself  bound  to  do 
were  you  a  gentleman." 

"  Leave  the  room,  I  tell  you  !"  roared  Morton, 
stamping  his  foot  furiously. 

"  I  do  not,  however,  pass  your  insult  altogether 
without  notice.  You  are  an  impertinent  rascal — " 

"  Leave  the  room,  sir  !  or  I  will  call  the  watch." 

"  You  are  an  insignificant  scoundrel  and  cow- 
ard—" 

"If  you  don't  leave  the  room  this  very  instant, 
sir — "  shouted  Morton,  frantic  with  rage,  and 
placing  himself,  with  many  pugilistic  flourishes,  in 
an  attitude  sometimes  of  attack  and  sometimes  of 
defence. 

"  And  I  shall  inflict  upon  you,"  continued  Clair- 
mont,  with  the  most  perfect  composure,  "the  chas- 
tisement which  your  vulgarity  deserves."  He 
raised  his  whip,  and  followed  the  retreating  Morton 
to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Ask  my  pardon  instantly,  sir,  or  I  flog  you  like 
a  dog." 


68  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

«  I  shall  not  ask  your  pardon,  sir,"  bawled  Mor- 
ton, in  a  tone  between  the  threat  of  a  bully  and  the 
•whine  of  a  whipped  schoolboy.  "  If  you  touch 
me,  sir,  I'll  have  the  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman. 

shall  ask  nobody's  pardon,  d n,  sir !  Leave  the 

room — don't  strike  me,  sir — don't  strike — Leslie, 
take  off  this  blood-hound — waiter  ! — waiter  ! — 
here— watch !— watch  !— Leslie,  for  God's  sake  ! — 
you  are  a  d- d  scoundrel,  sir  !" 

"If  Mr.  Leslie  interferes,"  said  the  count, 
calmly  proceeding  in  his  design,  and  raising  the 
whip,  "  Mr.  Leslie  will  share  your  fate." 

"  Count  Clairmont,"  said  Leslie,  who  had  already 
walked  to  his  side,  and  in  a  voice  so  deep  that  the 
count  turned  and  remained  motionless  to  hear  his 
words.  "  Count  Clairmont,  however  reluctant  I 
may  be  to  interfere  in  the  quarrels  of  another,  I 
shall  not  be  backward  in  assuming  my  own.  Your 
remark  is  a  personal  insult.  I  have  already  re- 
mained too  long  inactive  by  the  side  of  my  friend. 
Permit  me  to  inform  you  that  this  apartment  is 
private." 

"Mr.  Leslie,"  replied  the  ec-unt,  "your  sneers 
and  your  threats  are  equally  below  my  regard. 
This  person  I  shall  punish  by  the  whip.  Your 
claims  upon  my  attention,  sir,  will  be  answered  in 
a  different  way.  You  may  not  be  so  fortunate  as 
to  have  a  lady  for  a  protector."  Again  he  turned 
to  Morton,  and  raised  the  whip. 

"Count  Clairmont,"  cried  Leslie,  "if  you  in- 
deed be  a  count,  hear  me.  I  think  you  a  scoun- 
drel." 

A  blow  of  the  whip  was  the  only  reply,  and  in 
an  instant  the  young  nobleman  lay  at  his  length 
upon  the  floor. 

"  Norman  Leslie,"  cried  he,  rising,  his  face  white 
as  death,  yet  speaking  with  a  low  and  altered  voice, 
and  regarding  him  with  the  fiendish  fixedness  of  a 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  O3 

serpent  about  to  dart  his  death-fang — "  Norman 
Leslie,  you  have  disgraced  me,  and  I  will  have 
your  heart's  blood  !" 

"  As  you  please,  sir,"  replied  Norman,  sternly  ; 
"but  now  begone  !"  and,  flashing  back  glance  for 
glance,  he  stepped  two  strides  towards  his  foe. 

The  discomfited  noble  paused  a  moment  upon 
the  threshold,  and  looked  once  more  into  Leslie's 
face,  with  a  gaze  which,  in  spite  of  himself,  chilled 
even  the  boiling  blood  in  the  youth's  veins.  It  was 
the  black  scowl  of  a  demon.  His  features  then  re- 
laxed slowly  into  a  still  smile — if  possible,  yet  more 
malignant  and  inhuman. 

"Remember,  Norman  Leslie,"  he  said,  " I will 
have  your  heart's  blood  !  1  am  a  Catholic.  Here  is 
a  cross.  Look — /  swear  it !" 

He  pressed  the  jewelled  relic  convulsively  to  his 
lips,  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

In  which  the  Reader  will  note  the  Difference  between  a  young 
Gentleman's  Thoughts  of  a  Night  and  his  Actions  of  a 
Morning, 


"  God  bless  me  from  a  challenge  !" 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

"  WATCHMAN,  what  light  burns  yonder  in  the 
sky?"  asked  Leslie,  as  he  walked  home,  alone, 
from  Mrs.  Temple's ;  "  can  it  be  a  fire  ?" 

"  Why,  it's  the  morning !"  growled  the  surly 
guardian  of  the  night. 

"  And  so  it  is  !"  exclaimed  Norman,  looking  at 
his  watch. 


70  NORMAN    LESLIK. 

The  young  man  walked  on  ;  there  was  a  fever 
on  his  cheek  and  in  his  heart.  There  is  a  singular 
power  in  the  calmness  of  night,  and  in  the  holy 
silence  and  order  of  nature,  upon  the  imagination 
of  one  suddenly  freed  from  the  giddy  throng  and 
glare  of  a  revel.  How  it  hushes  the  ordinary  pas- 
sions !  The  mind,  which  has  been  like  a  stream 
disturbed,  settles  into  a  wonderful  clearness ;  and 
you  see  defined  thoughts  and  minute  feelings  far 
down  in  its  transparent  depths.  But  night  is  no- 
where so  impressive  and  solemn  as  in  the  worn 
haunts  of  a  mighty  city.  You  behold  the  aban- 
doned paths  with  something  of  the  feelings  with 
which  you  pause  among  the  ruins  of  an  ancient 
town.  True,  in  the  one  case  ages  have  rolled 
away  since  the  solitude  was  broken  by  eager  and 
thoughtless  steps ;  and  in  the  other,  only  hours : 

¥it  the  effect  upon  the  observer  is  strangely  alike, 
he  human  sea  has  washed  from  its  shores,  and 
left  the  marked  and  naked  channels  exposed  to  the 
eye.  The  clash  and  roar  of  worldly  interests  have 
died  away:  you' tread  the  solemn  aisles,  half-dis- 
engaged from  earthly  anxieties  and  excitations, 
with  the  cold  and  passionless  loneliness  of  a 
spectre.  Are  there  those  sleeping  around  who 
have  awakened  your  hatred  ?  how  its  secret 
fires  seem  dimmed  and  burned  out !  Can  you  look 
upon  the  heavens,  strown  with  mysterious  and 
eternal  worlds,  lying  in  their  same  bright  places 
for  ever  ! — on  which  all  the  great  of  history, 
Homer,  Socrates,  and  Alexander,  Sylla,  Caesar, 
and  Pompey,  Mohammed  and  Jesus,  have  fixed 
their  eyes— upon  which,  the  startled  imagination 
cannot  conjecture  for  how  many  thousand  years 
to  come,  other  immortal  heroes  and  poets  may 
gaze, — can  you  look  upon  them,  and  hate  one  of 
the  myriads  who  are  floating  away  with  you,  be- 
fleath  their  calm  faces,  like  the  specks  that  hang 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  71 

in  their  beams?  Can  you — exalted,  purified  as 
your  mind  then  is — hate  any  less  object  than  those 
evil  principles,  those  tremendous  passions  and 
vices,  which  have  clouded  the  paths  of  human 
beings  wiih  darkness  and  wo? 

But  if  you  have  been  guilty  of  a  rash  action,  if 
you  have  been  the  yielding  victim  of  some  moment- 
ary impulse  or  local  interest,  how  wondering  and 
abashed  are  you  in  those  holy  moments  !  How 
noble,  then,  does  virtue  appear !  How  vast  and 
high  seems  love !  How  unutterably  insignificant 
and  mean  those  motives  and  influences  which 
tempt  the  energies  and  guide  the  destinies  of  the 
human  race ! 

The  waning  moon  was  high  in  heaven  ;  and  her 
faint  light  yet  touched  the  surrounding  objects 
with  edges  of  silver.  The  long  vistas  of  densely- 
built  streets,  with  their  silent  and  deserted  pave- 
ments and  closed  shutters,  stretched  away  from. 
Leslie's  eyes.  No  one  was  to  be  seen,  but  a  dog 
that  stole  up  timidly,  crouching,  and  placed  his 
head  under  the  hand  of  the -night- wanderer,as  if  with 
a  human  weariness  of  the  death-like  solitude;  and 
here  and  there  a  watchman  leaning  in  the  shadow, 
and  ever  and  anon  striking  his  club  sharply  against 
the  stones — a  signal  answered  by  others  in  a  simi- 
lar way,  and  faintly  heard  through  the  distance  of 
the  echoing  streets.  Above,  the  stars  had  faded 
in  the  opening  light,  all  hut  a  few  large  and  lus- 
trous orbs,  which  lay  scattered  about  the  pearly 
void,  kindling  and  burning  like  lumps  of  soft  fire. 
Norman  paused,  and  bent  his  eyes  upward  ;  one 
bright  planet,  the  largest  in  heaven,  hung  before 
him. 

"  How  apt  the  emblem  is!"  he  thought.  "And 
the  great  poet  in  this,  as  in  all  things,  how  won- 
derfully he  has  written  !  Yon  '  bright  particular 
star' — in  one  exquisite  phrase,  what  eloquence ! 


72  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

what  power!  How  it  images  the  beauty,  and 
fervour,  and  worship  of  love  !  Thus  she  glides 
on — ever  calm,  bright,  and  pure — above  the  earth, 
though  shining  on  it.  Who  will  reach  her  !  Who 
will  win  confiding  looks  from  those  laughing  eyes, 
and  veil  their  young  mirth  in  the  tenderness  of 
love!  Whose  hand  will  put  back,  unreproved,the 
hair  from  that  brow !  Whose  bosom  will  beat 
beneath  that  graceful  head  !  Whose  rich  blessed 
lips  will  print  on  that  sweet  mouth  the  kiss  of  an 
adored,  a  happy  husband  !  What !  Clairmont ! 
Can  her  dreams  be  of  him?  Can  he  comprehend 
her  angelic  nature  ?  What  if  she  love  him  1 
What  have  I  done?  Rather  my  hand  should 
wither  than  injure  one  sanctified  by  her  affections. 
My  worship  for  her  cannot  pause  upon  her  own 
matchless  person.  It  would  protect  all  she  loves. 
Yet  what  must  I  now  do?  A  duel !  I — who  have 
pretended  to  think — who  have  professed  principle 
and  morality ;  I — who  have  thought  myself  the 
independent  master  and  controller  of  my  own 
actions ;  I  am  now  plunged  into  a  duel !  I  have 
chosen  murder,  or  self-murder,  for  a  companion. 
Reason,  religion,  bid  me  withdraw ;  but  yet  I  can- 
not: I  have  gone  too  far;  I  must  proceed.  My 
father — my  sister — should  I  fall,  what  will  be  their 
feelings  ?  Should  I  triumph,  what  will  be  my 
own  ?  In  death  all  will  despise,  and  in  life  all 
will  execrate  me :  she,  perhaps,  of  all,  the  most. 
This  Clairmont — why  do  I  hate  him  ?  Why 
should  I  seek  his  blood  ?  Why  should  I  blacken 
and  sear  my  soul  for  ever  with  a  deed  inhuman, 
abhorrent,  ghastly,  against  man,  against  nature, 
against  God  ?  What  goads  me  to  this  ? — the 
finger  of  the  scorner  !  the  laugh  of  the  fool ! 
Clairmont  falls  beneath  my  aim ;  and  with  Clair- 
mont, how  many  others  fall  ?  If  Flora  loves  him, 
her  young  heart  is  crushed.  How  many  others 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  73 

are  connected  with  him  by  human  sympathies? 
— perhaps  a  mother,  a  sister,  a  friend.  My  own 
hand  will  be  smeared  with  human  blood — vast 
classes  of  society  mark  me  for  a  murderer — the 
domestic  circle,  now  so  happy,  of  my  own  bright 
home  overshadowed  with  the  gloom  of  death! 
But  what  do  I  say  ?  My  blood  must  flow.  He  is 
a  sure  and  deadly  enemy.  The  grave  is  then 
for  me — a  sudden,  a  gory,  a  youthful  grave! 
Startling — tremendous — sublime  thought !  Earth, 
ever  burning  sky,  light,  sound,  morning,  the 
realm  of  the  human  race — beings  that  1  have 
known,  and  loved — farewell  !  I  quit  you — I  quit 
myself.  This  breathing  form  struck  to  nothing ! 
this  ranging  and  mysterious  soul  hurled  into  the 
dim  realm  of  spectres !  Broad  and  magnificent 
nature!  high  and  fairy  dream  of  existence!  ere  to- 
morrow night  I  plunge  from  you,  headlong,  into 
the  presence  of  God.  A  horrid  vision  !" 

Bitterly,  bitterly  did  the  youth  lament  his 
dilemma  at  that  still  and  lonely  hour.  The  crisis 
in  which  he  stood,  and  its  possible  consequences, 
rose  upon  him  in  all  their  vast  and  naked  horror ; 
for  the  fumes  of  passion  had  vanished  from  his 
mind,  and  left  it  intensely  alive  to  the  reaction  of 
reason. 

The  stars  paled,  the  moon  dissolved  in  a  flood 
of  new  light,  and  the  fiery  beams  of  morning 
darted  up  the  sky  as  he  reached  his  home. 

With  the  elasticity  of  youth,  however,  as  the 
day  broadened,  his  mind  recovered  a  more  cheer- 
ful tone,  and  he  began  to  take  brighter  views  of  his 
situation.  Unable  to  sleep,  he  found  the  refresh- 
ment of  a  warm-bath  a  tolerable  substitute ;  and 
after  a  substantial  breakfast,  and  renewing  his  toi- 
let with  even  more  than  ordinary  care,  awaited  in 
a  more  agreeable  mood  the  expected  message. 
Singular  inconsistency  of  human  nature,  which  per- 

VOL.  I. — O 


74  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

mits  trifles  so  unimportant  to  share  our  minds 
with  events  of  such  fearful  interest !  A  man  care- 
fully arranging  his  cravat-knot  upon  the  brink  of 
eternity ! 

At  twelve,  Captain  Forbes  of  the  army  in- 
quired for  Mr.  Leslie.  He  was  shown  into  a  pri- 
vate apartment. 

"  You  are  Mr.  Norman  Leslie  ?" 

"  I  am,  sir." 

"  You  are  aware — " 

"  I  am." 

"  You  understand  that — " 

"  I  do." 

"This  note  my  friend  Count  Clairmont  begged 
me  to  deliver,  with  express  injunctions  to  receive 
no  apologies." 

"  Your  friend's  injunctions  were  as  insolent,  sir, 
as  they  were  unnecessary,"  said  Leslie,  sternly 
and  loftily. 

"  He  apprehends — " 

"  His  apprehensions  are  groundless." 

"  My  friend  Count  Clairmont  requests  me  to 
see  this  little  matter  brought  immediately  to  a 
close." 

"  To-night,  if  you  please.  This  morning — this 
instant  1" 

"No,  no,"  said  the  captain;  "that  is  'imme- 
diately' with  a  vengeance.  I  am  engaged  to- 
night at  the  theatre  ;  but  to-morrow  morning,  at 
daybreak,  if  you  can  conveniently;  for  just  now  I 
am  overwhelmed  with  occupations." 

"  Any  accommodation  of  that  kind  which  I  can 
offer,  either  to  Count  Clairmont  or  to  Count  Clair- 
mont's  friend,  will  afford  me  infinite  satisfaction." 

"  You  will  send  me  then  a  friend  ?" 

"  With  the  necessary  instructions." 

"  Mr.  Leslie,  I  have  the  honour — " 

"  Captain  Forbes,  your  most  obedient." 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  75 

They  exchanged  the  parting  salutations  stiffly, 
but  courteously.  As  the  officer  withdrew,  his  re- 
treating bow  brought  his  body  into  contact  with 
that  of  a  new  comer,  whose  precipitate  haste  ren- 
dered his  momentum  considerable. 

"  I  do  declare,"  cried  Morton  ;  "  my  dearest  sir, 
I  beg  ten  thousand  million  pardons." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  cried  the  captain,  with  mili- 
tary brevity,  and  made  his  exit. 

"So-ho  !"  said  Morton,  regarding  the  note;  "it 
has  come  then." 

"  My  dear  Morton,"  exclaimed  Norman,  "  at 
present  you  must  excuse  me — " 

" '  Not  in  the  least/  Leslie,  as  the  captain  says ; 
not  for  the  world,"  answered  Morton.  "  You  must 
not,  you  shall  not  fight  that  Clairmont.  I  have 
made  some  inquiries  respecting  his  skill  at  pistol 
firing.  I  thought  you  were  joking,  last  night,  all 
the  while.  I  declare  I  had  no  idea.  I  took  it  all 
for  one  of  your  solemn  jests — " 

"  My  good  Morton — this  afternoon — to-morrow 
morning — " 

"  But  it  is  true.  It  is  more  than  true.  There  are 
no  two  ways  about  it.  Whew  !  Why,  he  is  a  devil 
incarnate  !  You  are  a  dead  man  !  He  can  snuff  a 
candle  !  Remember  the  Veronese  lady,  hey  ? — the 
duel  at  the  South — shoot  a  bullet  out  of  the  muz- 
zle of—" 

"  Morton,  let  go  my  button,  my  good  fellow — " 

"  But,  seriously,  Leslie,  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you.  Here,  help  me  wheel  around  this  big 
chair ;  and  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  let  me  do. 
You  see,  /,  being — " 

But  he  was  alone ;  Leslie  having  vanished  the 
instant  his  back  was  turned. 

"  Well,  I  declare  !"  said  the  surprised  young  gen- 
tleman, after  a  full  examination  of  the  room,  from 
the  ceiling  to  the  floor,  the  interior  of  the  book- 


76  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

cases,  and  under  the  tables — "  well,  I  declare — I 
never— that's  polite,  anyhow  !  If  he  meet  that  in- 
fernal  French  count,  there's  an  end  of  Norman 
Leslie !" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  Resolution,  which  will  be  condemned  by  some,  applauded  by 
others,  and  imitated  by  none. 

"  'Fore  God  !  man,  do  it.     'Tis  a  perilous  strait : 
But  being  the  only  one— dragon  or  not, 
Forth  your  good  sword,  and  on  !" 


DUELLING  has  not  wanted  many  grave  and  able 
defenders.  I  do  not  allude  to  the  victims  of  pas- 
sion on  the  field.  I  speak  of  cool  observers  in  the 
closet ;  advocates  who,  without  denying  its  partial 
absurdity  and  its  inadequate  local  effects,  without 
contending  that  it  is  either  a  redress  for  private 
grievances,  or  a  test  of  individual  courage — in 
short,  fully  granting  it  to  be  an  evil,  yet  assert  that 
it  is  a  necessary  one,  and  that  as  an  institution  of 
society  it  produces  a  public  benefit  more  than  suf- 
ficient to  counterbalance  its  particular  disadvan- 
tages. But,  say  its  opposers,  are  we  to  admit  an 
evil  for  the  sake  of  a  consequent  good  ?  This. 
it  is  replied,  is  the  pervading  principle  of  human 
communities,  and  of  nature  herself.  Evil,  inx 
working  out  good  through  the  realms  of  both,  is 
perhaps  more  efficacious  than  good  itself.  What 
is  it  that  has  left  the  heavens  a  vault  of  stainless 
azure  ?  It  is  the  same  tempest  which  shattered 
the  oak  and  swept  away  the  harvest.  What,  at 
the  present  most  remarkable  period  of  human  his- 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  77 

tory,  has  sent  abroad  among  mankind  light, 
knowledge,  and  power — has  lowered  the  auda- 
cious pride  and  weakened  the  monstrous  sway  of 
the  few — has  broken  the  fetters  of  the  many — and 
raised  the  people  to  that  broad  and  rightful  pos- 
session of  the  globe  plainly  indicated  as  the  inten- 
tion of  their  Creator  ;  what  has  effected  this  ?  an 
appeal  to  arms — the  shock  of  bloody  battles.  War 
is  an  evil ;  but  without  war  all  mankind  would 
now  be  slaves.  What  are  the  good  effects  of  du- 
elling ?  Its  champions  declare  that  it  raises  the 
tone  of  society,  and  polishes  the  manners.  The 
consciousness  of  this  standard  of  appeal  is  a  check 
upon  insolence  and  passion.  Law  punishes  ;  du- 
elling prevents.  There  are  many  species  of  as- 
sault upon  a  man's  reputation  or  his  person  which 
either  cannot  be  brought  within  the  reach  of  law, 
or  which,  being  brought  within  its  reach,  are  but 
inadequately  noticed.  The  law  makes  distinc- 
tions which  gentlemen  would  hot,  and  ought  not, 
to  make.  The  law  looks  to  dollars  and  cents — 
not  to  feelings  and  sentiments  :  yet  which,  the 
former  or  the  latter,  exert  the  greater  influence 
over  human  happiness  ?  The  law  is  a  selfish 
creature.  Infringe  its  own  rights,  however 
slightly,  nay,  however  accidentally,  and  it  crushes 
you  with  an  unexamining,  inexorable  cruelty. 
The  law  is  also  an  uncouth  and  gigantic  animal, 
He  stalks  onward  over  the  broad  high  ways  of  life. 
He  has  to  watch  the  whole  country.  He  cannot 
always  penetrate  into  the  quiet  by-paths  and  re- 
cesses of  lov£  and  peace.  Call  a  man  a  bad  law- 
yer, or  an  unskilful  physician,  and  the .  law 
awards  damages,  because  the  terms  are  injurious 
to  the  means  by  which  he  gains  his  livelihood. 
But  post  him  as  a  paltry  scoundrel,  or  a  mean 
shuffling'  fellow,  and  the  law  holds  forth  no  re- 
dress. If  one,  however  unjustly,  stigmatize  you 


78  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

as  a  liar  in  the  face  of  the  world— if  he  slander 
you  to  your  mistress,  or  insult  the  lady  who  de- 
pends upon  you  for  protection — the  door  of  the 
legal  tribunal  is  closed  against  you  :  but  should 
you,  with  a  manly  indignation,  or  a  chivalric  im- 
pulse to  defend  woman,  level  the  assailant  to  the 
earth — you  are  yourself  the  victim,  and  the  law, 
which  refused  to  defend  you,  punishes  you  for 
having  defended  yourself.  The  law  was  made  to 
regulate  the  traffic  of  merchants,  not  the  inter- 
course of  gentlemen.  Again,  say  the  advocates 
of  duelling,  all  men  have  not  equal  personal 
strength:  something  is  requisite  to  place  the 
weak  upon  a  level  with  the  strong.  It  is  true 
that  this  ordeal  is  as  likely  to  eventuate  in  the 
ruin  of  the  innocent  as  the  guilty ;  or  even  that 
the  quarrelsome  and  brutal,  by  making  pistol- 
firing  a  study,  may  acquire  precision  and  skill  not 
likely  to  be  possessed  by  the  peaceful,  unaccus- 
tomed to  unlace  their  reputations  in  brawls. 
But  it  is  answered  to  this,  that  the  more  perilous 
the  conflict  of  men  is  made,  the  less  frequent  will 
be  those  conflicts  ;  and  that  what  is  lost  by  the  in- 
dividual parties  engaged  in  a  duel  is  gained  by 
society  at  large  in  the  general  caution  against 
quarrels,  inasmuch  as  men  will  more  care  what 
they  say  and  do  when  they  know  that  an  indis- 
cretion may  forfeit  their  lives. 

These  were  the  thoughts  that  revolved  through 
the  mind  of  Leslie  as  he  walked  forth  with  the 
purpose  of  seeking  a  friend.  He  was  not  one  to 
sink  before  approaching  danger ;  but  notwith- 
standing the  hackneyed  sophistries  with  which  he 
endeavoured  to  hush  the  voice  of  his  reason, 
upon  the  folly  and  guilt  of  staking  his  life  upon 
the  impulses  of  a  brawl  and  the  passion  of  a  mo- 
ment, yet  his  constitutional  sensitiveness,  his 
imaginative  and  warm  disposition,  and  his  plain 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  79 

common  sense,  combined  to  make  him  quail  ever 
and  anon  at  the  stunning  prospect  of  death  or 
murder,  which  now  seemed  to  block  up  and  con- 
clude his  earthly  career.  I  am  not  drawing  the 
character  of  a  coward,  though  I  am  aware  that 
there  are  many  gentlemen  whom  such  a  dilemma 
would  agitate  with  fewer  scruples  of  conscience, — 
those  who  follow  war  as  a  profession,  and  whose 
moral  sense  is  blunted  by  habit ;  or  the  mere 
eUgant  of  the  ton,  whose  intellect  and  feelings  are 
long  ago  usurped  by  the  heartless  dogmas  of  fash- 
ionable life.  Much  less  courageous  and  elevated 
men  may  find  themselves  in  the  situation  of 
Leslie,  without  shuddering.  What  they  dignify- 
as  courage  does  not  merit  the  name.  In  some  it 
is  want  of  reflection  ;  in  some,  a  savage  habit ;  in 
some,  brute  obtusity,  and  an  inability  to  reason  on 
high  and  broad  grounds.  Many  narrow  and  me- 
diocre minds  find  ia  it  a  hope  of  importance 
which  they  can  never  obtain  by  other  means,  and 
are  willing  to  risk  an  existence  of  which  they 
have  never  learned  to  appreciate  the  value — or  to 
commit  a  crime  of  which  they  have  not  the  sensi- 
bility or  reflection  to  perceive  the  horror — that  they 
may  enjoy  the  temporary  triumph  of  newspaper 
notoriety,  or  strut  the  hero  of  a  bar-room,  insolent 
with  impunity,  among  braggarts  and  bullies  less 
bloody  and  renowned.  Bodily  courage  is  one  of 
the  lowest  qualities  which  pass  among  the  vir- 
tues. It  is  least  connected  with  the  nobler  and 
more  useful  attributes  of  humanity,  is  shared  by 
a  greater  number,  and  is  more  linked  with  the 
bestial  portion  of  our  nature.  I  am  speaking  only 
of  that  mere  bodily  courage  which  makes  soldiers 
brave  in  war  ;  or  which  induces  a  man  to  station 
himself  deliberately,  on  some  delicious  summer 
morning,  upon  a  piece  of  greensward,  and  let  an- 
other leisurely  aim  and  fire  a  pistol  at  his  heart. 


NORMAN   LESLIE. 


This  brute  courage,  in  which,  after  all,  bulls  and 
bears  (amiable  rivalship  !)  equal  or  excel  us, 
gained  its  high  reputation  among  the  ancient 
nations  who  lived  to  grasp  the  possessions  of  their 
weaker  neighbours  ;  who  had  no  other  name  for 
virtue  ;  who  were  ignorant  of  that  mighty  sense  of 
right  which  now,  century  by  century,  is  entering 
more  deeply  into  the  human  mind  ;  and  who  fan- 
cied that  the  Superior  Powers  attended  each  con- 
test, and  took  care  that  the  honest  party  should 
have  fair  play.  These  opinions  have  been  ex- 
ploded, but  the  custom  remains  —  a  dark,  unchris- 
tian wreck,  like  some  time-worn  pagan  altar,  where, 
strange  to  think,  even  to-day  the  high-priest  offi- 
ciates and  the  human  victim  bleeds. 

As  Leslie  ran  over  in  his  mind  the  common 
arguments  in  support  of  the  step  he  was  about  to 
take,  his  clear  reason  detected  their  fallacy.  He 
acknowledged  as  a  rational  being  their  absurdity, 
their  cold  cruelty,  and  their  monstrous  guilt.  He 
recoiled  instinctively  from  pouring  forth  the  blood 
of  a  fellow-creature,  or  his  own.  He  doubted,  with 
great  propriety,  too,  whether  the  public  could  be  a 
gainer  by  such  a  practice.  He  knew  that,  eventu- 
ate as  it  might,  his  own  peace  must  be  shattered 
for  ever.  He  was  about  to  rush  on  a  crisis  which 
reason  and  religion  alike  condemned.  It  was  an 
act  which  neither  Heaven  nor  earth  would  deem 
noble.  None  would  even  approve  it,  but  those 
whose  approbation  he  despised.  The  world's  ap- 
plause and  future  fame  were  denied  him.  He  had 
not  even  a  high  and  honourable  motive  in  his  own 
bosom  to  support  him  in  this  deep  and  secret  de- 
spondency. Life  was  doubly  dear  to  him  now,  for 
it  began  to  be  interwoven  with  the  thought  of  Flora 
Temple  ;  and  in  his  heart  he  felt  no  stronger  sen- 
timent against  Clairmont  than  simple  contempt. 
He  had  not  a  friend  on  earth  whom  this  measure 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  81 

would  not  distress  and  shock ;  and  he  was  driven 
to  it  neither  by  his  interests  nor  his  inclinations. 
Had  he  been  the  deadly  marksman  instead  of  his 
antagonist,  he  would  have  refused  a  meeting.  He 
could  not  apologize ;  nor  would  apologyhave  been 
accepted.  If  not,  there  would  be  a  new  degrada- 
tion, a  new  insult — and  both  useless.  Besides, 
even  had  he  been  wrong,  would  he  be  excusable 
in  tendering  an  apology  ?  It  had  been  expressly 
declared  that  "  no  apology"  would  be  received. 
But  he  was  not  prepared  to  confess  himself  wrong. 
"  No,"  he  said  at  length  to  himself,  with  the 
deep  determination  natural  in  a  high-tempered 
young  man  as  society  is  organized  ;  "  this  meet- 
ing must  take  place.  It  must — it  shall.  I  am  the 
blind  victim  of  a  dire,  a  fatal  necessity.  If  there 
be  guilt,  let  it  rest  on  the  community  who  coun- 
tenance this  atrocious  custom.  Let  it  rest  on  the 
women  who  smile  upon  the  duellist,  and  among 
whom  Clairmont  ranks  higher  because  he  has 
killed  a  human  being,  and  to  whose  laurel  my 
death  may  add  another  leaf.  I  am  myself  with- 
out skill.  He  is  a  cool,  a  practised,  a  professed 
duellist.  As  such  he  is  received  and  honoured  in 
my  own  circle.  Mrs.  Temple  avowedly  admires 
him  for  his  courage.  Even  Flora  hangs  on  his 
arm,  and  smiles,  and  jests ;  even  Flora  touches 
that  hand  in  the  dance  scarcely  yet  washed  from 
the  stain  of  a  brave  man's  blood.  They  all  know 
he  glories  in  taking  human  life ;  and  that  he  par- 
ticularly piques  himself  upon  an  aim  never  known 
to  miss  its  mark.  That  very  peril  which  renders 
my  destruction  inevitable,  renders  my  retreat  im- 
possible ;  for  that  would  now  seem  cowardice 
which  in  less  dangerous  circumstances  might  be 
acknowledged  as  principle.  Yet  it  is  not  courage 
which  impels  me.  No — I  will  not  deceive  my- 
self. What  will  pass  for  courage  in  me  is  only 


82  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

hypocrisy.  My  heart  sickens — my  soul  recoils — 
I  shudder.  It  is  fear  which  whips  me  on,  and 
which  startles  me  back.  Not  the  fear  of  death. 
Were  that  death  to  be  encountered  for  Flora- 
were  I  to  meet  a  lion  on  the  arena  for  her— were 
I  to  brave  pestilence — chains — torture — how  calm 

how  high — how  brave  I  should  be  !    But  here  I 

tremble  at  the  sin— the  ignominy— the  deep 
wound  I  must  inflict  upon  the  heart  of  a  father 
and  a  sister.  I  tremble  to  have  all  my  glittering 
dreams  and  broad  proud  plans  crushed  by  a  cool, 
vile,  heartless  villain.  But"— and  he  stepped  with 
a  higher  and  more  solemn  emotion — "  my  strug- 
gles are  over.  This  '  terrible  feat'  must  be  done. 
My  agonies  and  my  doubts  are  alike  useless  and 
idle." 

And  with  the  power  of  mind  which  perhaps 
more  accomplished  duellists  could  not  have  com- 
manded, he  dismissed,  at  least  for  a  period,  the  re- 
flections which  unnerved  him.  Indeed,  after  the 
first  recoil,  his  strong  nerves  and  manly  heart 
grew  stronger  and  manlier.  Enthusiastic  men— - 
those  at  first  most  startled-— are  apt  to  meet  sudden 
and  extraordinary  dangers,  when  once  shown  to 
be  inevitable,  with  a  mounting  spirit,  and  a  con- 
centrated faculty  of  thinking  and  acting  which 
breaks  thrillingly  in  upon  the  common  monotony 
of  existence,  and  stirs  up  their  souls  like  the  blast 
of  a  trumpet.  As  he  proceeded  on  his  way,  how- 
ever, he  could  not  banish  the  thought  of  Flora 
Temple.  This  charming  and  lovely  girl  had 
already  gained  strangely  upon  his  affections,  and 
her  image  was  now  received  into  his  mind  with 
new  and  inexpressible  tenderness.  It  seemed  that 
the  very  seriousness  of  his  danger  quickened  and 
brought  to  the  surface  of  his  heart  all  those  latent 
and  powerful  fires  which  had  hitherto  lurked  in  its 
most  secret  recesses.  It  was  the  dawning  of  a 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  Cd 

new  and  powerful  passion  in  a  young  and  ardent 
character.  It  was  a  second  love — which  (the  poets 
to  the  contrary  notwithstanding)  may  be  infinitely 
stronger  than  the  first.  The  sentiment  rests  more 
upon  the  results  of  observation  and  comparison  ; 
and,  by  being  better  defined,  is  deepened  and  con- 
centrated, ft  was  but  a  few  hours  since  he  had 
left  her — the  fairest  in  the  brilliant  circle.  How 
exquisitely  her  loveliness  recurred  to  him  as  he 
had  last  beheld  her  :  that  perfect  form,  full  of 
feminine  grace  and  poetic  character — that  bright, 
sweet  head — the  tender,  blue,  speaking  eyes — the 
smile,  the  parting  smile  which  he  had  exchanged 
with  her — perhaps  a  parting  for  ever  !  Then  rose 
the  other  shifting  images  of  the  night.  The  glit- 
tering and  remarkable  beauty  of  Rosalie  Romain 
— now  cold  to  him — the  ludicrous  fury  and  per- 
plexity of  poor  Morton — the  cutting  insult  and 
sarcastic  insolence  of  the  count,  which  struck  on 
his  veins  like  lightning — the  retort — the  flash — 
the  blow — the  fray — Clairmont's  demoniac  look — 
and  the  hushed  and  starry  heavens  in  his  lonely 
walk  home — all  recurred  to  him,  not  with  the 
sense  of  reality,  but  as  the  incidents  of  some 
melo-drama,  or  idle  romance,  or  yet  more  idle 
dream.  As  he  hastened  on  amid  all  the  noontide 
splendour  of  the  gay  Broadway,  he  found  it  almost 
impossible  to  believe  that  he  was  in  reality  stand- 
ing at  last  upon  the  edge  of  that  fearful  brink 
which  appals  alike  the  king,  the  philosopher,  and 
the  beggar — where  they  all  must  meet  in  the 
equal  nakedness  and  weakness  of  mortal  impo- 
tence and  apprehension  ;  that  while  around  him 
glittered  so  much  elegance,  gayety,  and  common- 
place bustle — while  many  a  sweet,  familiar  face 
smiled  on  him  as  he  proceeded,  and  many  a  friend 
of  his  own  sex  gave  him,  in  careless  haste,  the 
passing  nod  of  salutation — that  he  was  stealing  on- 


84  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

ward  like  a  thins:  of  death,  lent  for  a  few  hours  to 
roam  the  earth,  and  destined  ere  to-morrow's  sun- 
set to  be  the  tenant  of  a  hasty  and  dishonoured 
grave. 

A  few  moments  (for  we  think  much  faster  than 
we  write)  brought  him  to  the  house  of  Howard. 
He  was  not  at  home.  Near  the  residence  of 
Howard  was  that  of  Kreutzner,  a  brave  and  gal- 
lant young  German  student  from  one  of  those  cel- 
ebrated universities  famed  for  romantic  occur- 
rences. He  was  a  bold  and  attractive  character, 
and  one  of  Leslie's  intimates.  To  Kreutzner, 
therefore,  he  went,  and,  beyond  his  hopes,  found 
him  in.  -They  walked  forth  together,  and  Leslie 
had  no  sooner  related  the  whole  incident  than 
Kreutzner  remarked, — 

"  It  is  as  I  suspected.  I  meet  Clairmont  often 

at  B 's.  I  heard  him,  this  morning,  with  a 

most  singular  expression  of  countenance,  say  to 
Forbes — '  That  Leslie  is  a  man  I  have  always 
hated.  I  would  wing  him,  and  so  let  him  off ;  but, 
by  G — ,  I  will  make  an  end  of  him !'  Not  to 
Philip's  right  eye,  but  to  Philip's  heart,  he  is  to 
send  his  arrow." 

"  And  shall  I,  then,"  cried  Norman,  flushing 
with  indignation,  and  speaking,  as  he  generally 
both  spoke  and  acted,  from  impulse,  while  in  one 
instant  all  his  fine  moral  principles  melted  to  air 
— "  shall  I  throw  away  my  life  tamely  ?  shall  he 
live  hereafter  the  gay  Adonis  of  the  ball,  and  ex- 
tend to  the  touch  of  fawning  girls  the  hand  which 
has  consigned  me  to  a  bloody  grave  ?" 

"What  can  you  do?"  asked  Kreutzner;  "are 
you  an  adept  at  the  pistol  ?" 

"  No — and  that  Clairmont  well  knows." 

"  He  will  kill  you  dead  as  sure  as  he  fires,"  re- 
joined Kreutzner. 

"  And  I  cannot  for  ten  thousand  lives,"  added 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  85 

Leslie,  "  make  the  slightest  move  to  retreat  or  ex- 
plain." 

"  He  has  sworn  to  have  your  heart's  blood.  He 
will  keep  his  oath." 

"  Kreutzner,"  said  Leslie,  after  a  long  pause,  and 
without  any  other  alteration  of  countenance  and 
manner  than  a  slight  paleness,  a  scarce  percepti- 
ble tremour  of  the  voice,  which,  however,  vanished 
as  he  continued,  and  a  cairn  and  almost  fearful 
determination  in  his  eye — "Kreutzner,  I  have 
examined  this  subject,  you  will  readily  believe, 
with  the  greatest  attention.  Since  this  Clair- 
mont  last  night  fell  prostrate  beneath  my  arm, 
I  have  viewed  my  situation  in  all  its  bearings. 
Cruelty  forms  no  part  of  my  character.  I  cannot 
plant  my  foot  upon  a  spider  without  a  thrill  and 
a  shudder  of  painful  compassion.  I  think  life  of 
all  things  the  most  mysterious  and  sacred  ;  and  to 
quench  it,  or  lose  it,  of  all  calamities  the  most 
undefinably  and  tremendously  awful.  I  know  all 
this — all  you  will  say — all  the  world  will  say ; 
yet  I  see  that  I  must  die — and  I  will  not  die  alone." 

"  Leslie,  for  Heaven's  sake—" 

"  Hear  me  :  do  not  attempt  to  reason  with  me 
— do  not  attempt  to  change  my  resolution.  You 
cannot  do  it.  I  never  felt  so  perfectly,  so 
strangely,  so  unutterably  calm  and  fixed  as  I  do 
now.  I  hate  duelling.  I  know  it  is  immoral.  I 
know  the  penalty ;  but  I  now  find  in  my  soul 
what  I  never  found  there  before — that  concen- 
trated principle  of  fierce  and  desperate  self-defence 
which  excludes  every  consideration  except  itself. 
I  die,  Kreutzner,  my  friend — I  die,  young,  un- 
honoured ;  but  he  who  has  pushed  me  to  this 
extremity  does  not  know  me.  My  mind  is  com- 
pletely settled.  Clairmont  and  myself  to-morrow 
night  sleep  in  the  same  red  grave — make  your 
arrangements — foot  to  foot — breast  to  breast. 

TOL.  i. — H 


86  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

God,  Kreut2ner,  it  is  awful !  but  it  is  soul-stirring 
and  sublime." 

Kreutzner  looked  at  his  friend — his  lofty  step, 
his  flashing  eyes,  his  noble  countenance,  and  stately 
form  ;  and  he  thought,  with  almost  a  feeling  of 
woman's  tenderness,  of  the  approaching  moment 
which  would  lay  them  low  in  the  dust. 

"  I  have  written  letters  to  my  father  and  to  Julia," 
continued  Leslie.  "  You  will  find  them  on  my 
table  in  a  large  volume  of  Josephus.  I  will  leave 
there  also  a  note  for  Howard.  He  is  a  good  fellow. 
Tell  him  I  called  on  him  first  to  support  me  in 
this  somewhat  serious  affair,  and  that  I  love  him. 
God  bless  him !  with  all  my  heart.  And  also, 
Kreutzner,  I  will — but  no — why  should  I  ?  No — 
I  will  not !  Yet — should  you  ever  see  in  the  con- 
duct of  our  friend  Miss  Temple — Miss  Temple — 
any  thing  to  make  you  believe  she  really  regrets 
my  death — " 

"  You  are  getting  devilish  sentimental,"  inter- 
rupted Kreutzner,  hastily  passing  his  hand  over 
his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  Kreutzner,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Nor- 
man, "you  deserve  my  confidence.  Indeed,  at 
this  moment,  I  could  not  if  I  would  withhold  it 
from  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so.  I  love  Miss 
Temple,  Kreutzner — I  love  her — dearly — deeply 
— tenderly  ;  her  image  will  be  the  last,  the  very 
last  in  my  memory.  Tell  her  so,  Kreutzner— not 
at  once — hereafter — on  some  mild  and  mellow 
afternoon  in  summer,  when  you  shall  be  alone — 
with  her— and  when  I—" 

"  Norman  Leslie  !"  cried  Kreutzner  ;  "  d— n  it, 
man,  who'd  have  thought  this  of  me  ;"  and,  taking 
out  his  handkerchief — hemming  and  clearing  his 
throat — he  blew  his  nose  sonorously,  and  availed 
himself  of  the  opportunity  to  dry  his  eyes  once 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  87 

more.  "  Can  I  alter  your  determination  to  meet 
Clairmont  as  you  propose  ?" 

"  No  1"  replied  Norman. 

"  Then,  d — n  me,  if  I  don't  think  you'll  frighten 
him  out  of  it.  For  if  Count  Clairmont  of  the 
French  army  be  not  at  heart  a  complete  coward, 
then  John  Kreutzner  is  no  judge  of  cowards. 
Walk  up  Broadway  with  me :  I'll  tell  you  a  story 
— a  devilish  good  one,  by-the-way  ;  and,  d — n  it," 
he  added,  par  parenthese,  blowing  his  nose  again, 
"  I  can  finish  it  long  before  I  get  to  Forbes's  !" 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  German  Student's  Story. 


<«  If  this  were  played  upon  a  stage,  now,  I  would  condemn  it  as 
an  improbable  fiction."  Twelfth.  Night. 

"  I  HAVE  myself,"  said  Kreutzner,  "  witnessed 
many  duels ;  but  we  are  not  so  blood-thirsty, 
generally  speaking,  as  you  moral  Americans.  We 
usually  settled  these  matters  with  a  sword,  a  better 
method,  by-the-way,  and  more  worthy  of  a  soldier 
than  your  cold  murderous  pistol-firing.  Any  pol- 
tron  may  pull  a  trigger,  but  it  requires  the  firm 
hand  and  steady  eye  of  a  man  to  manage  the  steel. 
However,  as  I  was  saying,  when  I  was  at  Jena 
they  called  each  other  out  as  merrily  as  beaux  and 
belles  to  a  dance.  It  was  but  the  treading  on  a 
toe — the  brushing  of  an  elbow  ;  nay,  an  accidental 
look  that  fell  on  them  when  they  wished  not  obser- 
vation, and  the  next  day,  or,  by  St.  Andrew,  the 


NORMAN    LESLIE. 


next  hour,  there  was  the  clash  of  steel,  and  the 
stamping  of  feet  on  the  greensward ;  and  the 
kindling  and  flashing  of  fiery  eyes — and  plunge 
and  parry,  and  cut  and  thrust,  till  one  or  both  lay 
stretched  at  length — a  pass  through  the  body — a 
gash  open  in  the  cheek — the  scull  cleft  down,  or 
a  hand  off,  and  the  blood  bubbling  and  gushing  forth 
like  a  rill  of  mountain-water.  There  were  more 
than  one  of  those  fellows — devils  I  must  say,  who, 
when  they  found  among  them  some  strange  student, 
timid  or  retired,  whose  character  they  were  un- 
acquainted with,  or  whose  courage  they  doubted, 
would  pass  the  hint  out  of  mere  sport — brush  his 
skirt — charge  the  offence  upon  him — demand  an 
apology  too  humble  for  a  hare,  and  dismiss  him 
from  the  adventure  only  with  an  opened  shoulder, 
or  daylight  through  his  body." 

"  The  ruffians  !"  cried  Norman. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  returned  Kreutzner,  laughing ; 
"you  would  have  loved  them, like  brothers,  had 
you  known  their  hearts.  It  is  all  education  and 
custom." 

"  But  to  the  story,  Kreutzner." 

"There  was  among  us  one  fellow  named  Mentz, 
who  assumed,  and  wore  with  impunity,  the  charac- 
ter of  head  bully.  He  was  foremost  in  all  the 
deviltry.  His  pistol  was  death,  and  his  broad- 
sword cut  like  the  scissors  of  fate.  It  was  curious 
to  see  the  fellow  fire — one,  two,  three,  and 
good-by  to  his  antagonist.  His  friendship  was 
courted  by  all ;  for  to  be  his  enemy  was  to  lie  in  a 
bloody  grave.  At  length,  grown  fearless  of  being 
called  to  account,  he  took  pride  in  insulting  stran- 
gers— and  even  women.  His  appearance  was 
formidable :  a  great  burly  giant,  with  shaggy  black 
hair,  huge  whiskers,  and  grim  mustaches,  three 
inches  long,  twirled  under  his  nose.  A  sort  of 
beauty  he  had  too :  and  among  the  women — Lord 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  89 

help  us — wherever  those  mustaches  showed  them- 
selves every  opponent  abandoned  the  ground.  It 
was,  at  last,  really  dangerous  to  have  a  sweetheart ; 
for  out  of  pure  bravado  Mentz  would  push  forward, 
make  love  to  the  lady,  frighten  her  swain,  and 
either  terrify  or  fascinate  herself.  Should  the 
doomed  lover  offer  resistance,  he  had  no  more  to 
do  but  call  a  surgeon  ;  and  happy  enough  he  con- 
sidered himself  if  he  escaped  with  the  loss  of  his 
teeth  or  an  eye.  He  had  killed  four  men  who 
never  injured  him — wounded  seventeen,  and  fought 
twenty  duels.  He  once  challenged  a  whole  club, 
who  had  black-balled  him  anonymously  ;  and  was 
pacified  only  by  being  re-admitted,  though  all  the 
members  immediately  resigned,  and  the  club  was 
broken  up.  I  dwell  on  this  character  because — " 

"  Because  you  think  he  resembles  Clairmont," 
said  Norman ;  "  go  on,  I  am  interested." 

"At  last  there  came  a  youth  into  the  university — 
slender,  quiet,  and  boyish-looking,  with  a  handsome 
face,  though  somewhat  pale.  His  demeanour, 
though  generally  shy,  was  noble  and  self-possessed. 
He  had  been  but  a  short  time  among  us,  however, 
before  he  was  set  down  as  a  cowardly  creature, 
and  prime  game  for  the  '  devils  broke  loose,'  as  the 
gang  of  Mentz  termed  themselves.  The  coy  youth 
shunned  all  the  riots  and  revels  of  the  university — 
insulted  no  one  ;  and  if  his  mantle  brushed  against 
that  of  another,  apologized  so  immediately,  so 
gracefully,  and  so  gently,  that  the  devil  himself 
could  not  have  fixed  a  quarrel  upon  him.  It  soon 
appeared,  too,  that  Gertrude,  the  lovely  daughter 
of  the  Baron  de  Saale — the  toast  of  all  the  country 
— upon  whom  the  most  of  us  had  gazed  as  on 
something  quite  above  us — it  soon  appeared  that 
the  girl  loved  this  youthful  stranger.  Now  Menfz 
had  singled  Gertrude  out  for  himself,  and  avowed 
his  preference  publicly.  Arnold,  for  thus  was  the 

H2 


90  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

new  student  called,  was  rarely,  if  ever,  tempted  to 
our  feasts ;  but  once  he  came  unexpectedly  on  a 
casual  invitation.  To  the  great  surprise  and  inter- 
est of  the  company  Mentz  himself  was  there,  and 
seated  himself,  unabashed,  at  the  table,  though  an 
unbidden  guest.  The  strongest  curiosity  at  once 
arose  to  witness  the  result ;  for  Mentz  had  sworn 
that  he  would  compel  Arnold,  on  their  first  meeting, 
to  beg  pardon  on  his  knees  for  the  audacity  of 
having  addressed  his  mistress.  It  had  not  appeared 
that  Arnold  knew  any  thing  of  Mentz's  character, 
for  he  sat  cheerfully  and  gayly  at  the  board,  with 
so  much  the  manners  of  a  high-born  gentleman, 
that  every  one  admitted  at  once  his  goodness,  his 
intelligence,  his  grace,  and  his  beauty  ;  and  re- 
gretted the  abyss  on  the  brink  of  which  he  uncon- 
sciously stood. 

" « What,  ho  !'  at  length  shouted  Mentz,  as  the 
evening  had  a  little  advanced,  and  the  wine  began 
to  mount :  '  a  toast !  Come — drink  it  all ;  and  he 
who  refuses  is  a  poltron  and  a  coward.  I  quaff 
this  goblet — fill  to  the  brim — to  the  health  and 
happiness  of  Gertrude  de  Saale — the  fairest  of  the 
fair !  Who  says  he  knows  a  fairer  is  a  black  liar, 
and  I  will  write  the  word  on  his  forehead  with  a 
red  hot  brand.' 

"Never  before  had  even  Mentz  betrayed  his 
brutal  soul  so  grossly  in  words ;  but  the  guests,  who 
knew  that  he  was  heated  with  wine,  passed  over 
his  coarse  insult  with  shouts  of  laughter,  and  drank, 
with  riotous  confusion,  to  Gertrude,  fairest  of  the 
fair.  As  the  gleaming  goblets  were  emptied,  and 
dashed  rattling  down  again  upon  the  table,  Mentz 
arose,  and,  with  the  bloated  importance  of  a  despot, 
gazed  around  to  see  that  all  present  had  fulfilled 
his  orders.  Every  goblet  was  emptied  but  one, 
which  stood  untasted — untouched.  On  perceiving 
this,  the  ruffian,  leaning  forward,  fixed  his  eyes  on 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  91 

the  cup,  struck  his  brawny  hand  down  fiercely  on 
the  table,  which  returned  a  thundering  clash  and 
rattle,  and  then  repeated,  in  a  voice  husky  with 
rage— 

" '  There  is  a  cup  full :  by  St.  Anthony !  I  will 
make  the  owner  swallow  its  measure  of  molten 
lead,  if  it  remain  thus  one  instant  longer !' 

"  '  Drink  it,  Arnold — drink  it,  boy ;  keep  thy  hand 
out  of  useless  broils,'  whispered  a  student  near 
him,  rather  advanced  in  age. 

"  '  Drink,  friend  !'  muttered  another,  dryly,  'or  he 
will  not  be  slow  in  doing  his  threat.  I  promise 
thee— ' 

"  «  Empty  the  cup,  man  !'  cried  a  third  ;  « never 
frown  and  turn  pale,  or  thy  young  head  will  lie 
lower  than  thy  feet  ere  to-morrow's  sunset.' 

" '  It  is  Mentz  the  duellist,'  said  a  fourth.  «  Dost 
thou  not  know  his  wondrous  skill.  He  will  kill 
thee  as  if  thou  wert  a  deer,  if  thou  oppose  him  in 
his  wine.  He  is  more  merciless  than  a  wild  boar. 
Drink,  man,  drink  P 

"  These  good-natured  suggestions  were  uttered  in 
hasty  and  vehement  whispers ;  and,  while  the 
students  were  thus  endeavouring  to  palliate  the 
bloody  catastrophe,  the  furious  beast  again  struck 
his  giant  hand  down  violently  on  the  table,  without 
speaking,  as  if  words  were  too  feeble  for  his  rage. 

"  During  this  interesting  scene,  the  youth  had  re- 
mained motionless, cool, and  silent.  A  slight  pallour, 
but  evidently  more  of  indignation  than  fear,  came 
over  his  handsome  features ;  and  his  eyes  dilated 
with  emotion,  resting  full  and  firm  upon  Mentz. 

"  *  By  the  mass,  gentlemen  !'  he  said  at  length, 
*  I  am  a  stranger  here,  and  ignorant  of  the  man- 
ners prevalent  in  universities ;  but  if  yonder  person 
be  sane,  and  this  no  joke — ' 

" '  Joke  !'  thundered  Mentz,  foaming  at  the  lip. 

*• '  I  must  tell  you  that  I  come  from  a  part  of  the 


92  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

country  where  we  neither  give  nor  take  such  jokesy 
or  such  insults.' 

" '  Hast  thou  taken  leave  of  thy  friends  ?'  said 
Mentz,  partly  hushed  by  astonishment ;  '  and  art 
thou  tired  of  life,  that  thou  hurriest  on  so  blindly  to 
a  bloody  pillow  !  Boy  !  drink,  as  I  have  told  thee, 
to  Gertrude,  fairest  of  the  fair  !'  And  his  huge 
round  eyes  opened,  like  those  of  a  bull,  upon  a 
daring  victim. 

" '  That  Gertrude  de  Saale  is  fair  and  lovely,' 
cried  the  youth,  rising, '  may  not  be  denied  by  me. 
But — I  demand  by  what  mischance  I  find  her  name 
this  night  common  at  a  board  of  rioters,  and 
polluted  by  the  lips  of  a  drunkard  and  a  ruffian  ?' 

" '  By  the  bones  of  my  father,'  said  Mentz,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  and  dire  anger,  which  had  eer  then 
appalled  many  a  stout  heart — '  by  the  bones  of  my 
father,  your  doom  is  sealed !  Be  your  blood  on  your 
own  head.  But,'  said  he,  observing  that  the  youth, 
instead  of  cowering,  bore  himself  more  loftily, 
'  what  folly  is  this  !  Drink,  lad,  drink !  and  I  hurt 
thee  not !  I  love  thy  gallant  bearing,  and  my 
game  is  not  such  as  thou.' 

"  He  added  this  with  a  wavering  of  manner  which 
had  never  before  been  witnessed  in  him,  for  never 
before  had  he  been  opposed  so  calmly  and  so 
fiercely  ;  and,  for  a  moment,  he  quailed  beneath  the 
fiery  glances  darted  at  him  from  one  whom  he 
supposed  meeker  than  the  dove.  But,  ashamed  of 
his  transient  fear,  he  added  : — 

" '  Come  to  me,  poor  child !  Bring  with  thee  thy 
goblet — bend  at  my  foot — quaff  it  as  I  have  said, 
and — out  of  pity,  I  spare  thy  young  head.' 

"  What  was  the  astonishment  of  the  company  on 
beholding  Arnold,  as  if  effectually  awed  by  a  mo- 
ment's reflection,  and  the  ferocious  enmity  of  so 
celebrated  and  deadly  a  foe,  actually  do  as  he  was 
commanded.  He  rose,  took  the  cup,  slowly  ap- 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  93 

preached  the  seat  of  his  insulter — knelt  and  raised 
the  rim  to  his  lips.  Murmurs  of*  shame,  shame,  pol- 
tron,  coward !'  came  hot  and  thick  from  the  group  of 
spectators,  who  had  arisen  in  the  excitement  of 
their  curiosity,  and  stood  eagerly  bending  forward, 
with  every  eye  fixed  upon  the  object  of  their  con- 
tempt. A  grim  smile  of  savage  triumph  distorted 
the  features  of  Mentz,  who  shouted,  with  a  hoarse 
and  drunken  laugh — 

" '  Drink  deep — down  with  it — to  the  dreg  s  !' 

"  Arnold,  however,  only  touched  the  rim  to  his 
lips,  and  waited  a  moment's  silence,  with  an  ex- 
pression so  scornful  and  composed  that  the  hisses 
and  exclamations  were  again  quelled  ;  when  every 
sound  had  ceased  to  a  dead  silence : — 

"  '  Never,'  he  said, '  shall  I  refuse  to  drink  to  the 
glory  of  a  name  I  once  loved  and  honoured — Ger- 
trude, fairest  of  the  fair  !  But,'  he  added,  suddenly 
rising  and  drawing  up  his  figure,  with  a  dignity 
that  silenced  every  breath, '  for  thee,  thou  drunken, 
bragging,  foolish  beast !  I  scorn — I  spit  upon — I 
defy  thee !  and — thus  be  punished  thy  base,  brutal 
insolence,  and  thy  stupid  presumption.' 

"  As  he  spoke  he  dashed  the  contents  of  the 
ample  goblet  full  into  the  face  of  Mentz  ;  and  then, 
with  all  his  strength,  hurled  the  massy  goblet  itself 
at  the  same  mark.  The  giant  reeled  and  staggered 
a  few  paces  back ;  and  amid  the  shining  liquor  on 
his  drenched  clothes  and  dripping  features,  a  stream 
of  blood  was  observed  to  trickle  down  his  fore- 
head. 

"  Never  before  was  popular  feeling  more  sud- 
denly and  violently  reversed.  The  object  of  their 
vilest  execrations  flashed  upon  them  with  the 
immediate  brightness  of  a  superior  being.  A  loud 
and  irrepressible  burst  of  applause  broke  from 
every  lip,  till  the  broad  and  heavy  rafters  above 
their  heads,  and  the  very  foundations  of  the  floor, 


94  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

shook  and  trembled.  But  the  peal  of  joy  and  ap- 
probation soon  ceased  ;  for  although  this  inspiring 
drama  had  so  nobly  commenced,  it  was  uncertain 
how  it  might  terminate.  Before  the  tyrant  recov- 
ered from  the  stunned  and  bewildered  trance  into 
which  the  blow,  combined  with  shame,  grief,  aston- 
ishment, and  drunkness,  had  thrown  him,  several 
voices,  after  the  obstreperous  calls  for  silence  usual 
on  such  occasions,  addressed  the  youth,  who  stood 
cool  and  erect,  with  folded  arms,  waiting  the  course 
of  events. 

"  l  Brave  Arnold !  Noble  Arnold  !  A  gallant 
deed  !  The  blood  of  a  true  gentleman  in  his 
veins  !' 

" '  But,  canst  thou  fight  ?'   cried  one. 

" '  I  am  only  a  simple  student,  and  an  artist  by 
profession.  I  have  devoted  myself  to  the  pencil — 
not  the  sword.' 

"'But  thou  canst  use  it  a  little — canst  not?' 
asked  another. 

" « But  indifferently,'  answered  the  youth. 

"  '  And  how  art  thou  with  the  pistol  ?'  demanded 
a  third. 

" '  My  hand  is  unpractised,'  replied  Arnold.  '  I 
have  no  skill  in  shedding  human  blood.' 

"  '  'Fore  God  !  then,  rash  boy,  what  has  tempted 
thee  to  this  fatal  extremity  ?' 

"  '  Hatred  of  oppression,'  replied  the  youth,  « in 
all  its  forms ;  and  a  willingness  to  die  rather  than 
submit  to  insult.' 

"  *  Die  then  thou  shall !  and  that  ere  to-morrow's 
sun  shall  set !'  thundered  Mentz,  starting  up  in  a 
phrensy,  and  with  a  hoarse  and  broken  voice  that 
made  the  hearts  of  the  hearers  shudder  as  if  at  the 
howl  of  a  dog  or  a  demon.  '  1  challenge  thee  to 
mortal  combat.' 

"  '  And  I  accept  the  challenge.' 

"  *  It  is  for  thee  to  name  time,  place,  and  weapon ; 
but,  as  thou  lovest  me,  let  it  not  be  longer  than  to- 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  95 

morrow  night,  or  I  shall  burst  with  rage  and  impa- 
tience.' 

"  *  I  love  thee  not,  base  dog !'  replied  Arnold  ; 
'  but  thou  shall  not  die  so  inglorious  a  death.  I 
will  fight  with  thee,  therefore,  to-night.' 

" '  By  the  mother  of  Heaven,  boy  !'  cried  Mentz, 
more  and  more  surprised,  '  thou  art  in  haste  to  sup 
in  hell !'  and  the  ruffian  lowered  his  voice.  'Art 
thou  mad  ?' 

"  '  Be  that  my  chance,'  answered  Arnold  ;  '  I 
shall  not  be  likely  to  meet,  even  in  hell,  a  companion 
so  brutal  as  thou — unless,  which  I  mean  shall  be 
the  case,  thou  bear  me  company.' 

" {  To-night  then  be  it,'  said  Mentz ;  c  though  to- 
night my  hand  is  not  steady  ;  for  wine  and  anger 
are  no  friends  to  the  nerves.' 

" '  Dost  thou  refuse  me,  then  ?'  demanded  the 
youth,  with  a  sneer. 

"  '  By  the  mass,  no !  but  to-night  is  dark ;  the 
moon  is  down ;  the  stars  are  clouded  ;  and  the 
wind  goes  by  in  heavy  puffs  and  gusts.  Hear  it 
even  now.' 

"' Therefore,' said  the  youth,  apparently  more 
coldly  composed  as  his  fierce  rival  grew  more  per- 
ceptibly agitated — 'therefore  will  we  lay  down 
our  lives  here — in  this  hall — on  this  spot — on  this 
instant — even  as  thou  standest  now.' 

" '  There  is  no  one  here  who  will  be  my  friend,' 
said  Mentz  ;  so  evidently  sobered  and  subdued  by 
the  singular  composure  and  self-possession  of  his 
antagonist,  that  all  present  held  him  in  contempt, 
and  no  one  stirred. 

" '  No  matter,'  cried  Arnold  ;  '  I  will  myself 
forego  the  same  privilege.' 

"  '  And  your  weapons  ?'  said  Mentz. 

'"Are  here,'  cried  Arnold,  drawing  them  from 
his  bosom  ;  'a  surer  pair  never  drew  blood.  The 
choice  is  yours.' 


<QQ  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"  The  company  began  now  to  fancy  that  Arnold 
had  equivocated  in  disclaiming  skill  as  a  duellist ; 
and  from  his  invincible  composure  thought  him  a 
more  fatal  master  of  the  weapon  than  the  bully 
himself.  The  latter  also  partook  of  this  opinion. 

" « Young  man,'  he  cried,  in  a  voice  clouded  and 
low  ;  but  stopped,  and  said  no  further. 

« Your  choice !'  said  Arnold,  presenting  the 

I 


Mentz  seized  one  desperately,  and  said — 

"'Now  name  your  distance.' 

"'Blood-thirsty  wolf!'  said  Arnold,  'there  shall 
be  no  distance  !'  He  then  turned  and  addressed 
the  company. 

" '  Gentlemen,'  he  said,  '  deem  me  not  either 
savage  or  insane,  that  I  sacrifice  myself  and  this 
brutal  wretch  thus  before  your  eyes,  and  to  cer- 
tain and  instant  destruction.  For  me,  1  confess  I 
have  no  value  in  life.  Her  whom  I  loved  I  have 
sworn  to  forget ;  and  if  I  existed  a  thousand  years, 
should  probably  never  see  again.  This  ruffian  is 
a  coward,  and  fears  to  die  ;  though  he  does  not  fear 
daily  to  merit  death.  I  have  long  heard  of  his 
baseness,  and  regard  him  as  an  assassin — the  enemy 
of  the  human  race  and  of  God — a  dangerous 
beast — whom  it  will  be  a  mercy  and  a  virtue  to 
destroy.  My  own  life  I  would  well  be  rid  of,  but 
would  not  fling  it  away  idly  when  its  loss  may  be 
made  subservient  to  the  destruction  of  vice  and 
the  relief  of  humanity.  Here,  then,  I  yield  my 
breath ;  anfl  here  too  this  trembling  and  shrinking 
craven  shall  close  his  course  of  debauchery  and 
murder.  My  companions,  farewell :  should  any 
one  of  you  hereafter  chance  to  meet  Gertrude  de 
Saale,  tell  her  I  nobly  flung  away  a  life  which  her 
falsehood  had  made  me  despise.  And  now,  re- 
creant,' he  said,  in  a  fierce  tone,  turning  suddenly 
towards  Mentz,  '  plant  thy  pistol  to  my  bosom,  as 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  97 

I  will  plant  mine  to  thine.  Let  one  of  the  com- 
pany cry  three,  and  the  third  number  be  the  signal 
to  fire.' 

"  With  an  increased  paleness  in  his  countenance, 
but  with  even  more  ferocity  and  firmness,  Arnold 
threw  off  his  cap,  displaying  his  high  brow  and 
glossy  ringlets.  His  lips  were  closed  and  firm  ; 
and  his  eyes,  which  glistened  with  a  deadly  glare, 
were  fixed  on  Mentz.  He  then  placed  himself  in 
an  attitude  of  firing ;  broadened  his  exposed  chest 
full  before  his  foe ;  and  with  a  stamp  of  fury  and 
impatience  raised  the  weapon.  The  brow-beaten 
bully  attempted  to  do  the  same ;  but  the  pistol, 
held  loosely  in  his  grasp,  whether  by  accident  or 
intention,  went  off  before  the  signal.  Its  contents 
passed  through  the  garments  of  Arnold,  who,  lev- 
elling the  muzzle  of  his  own,  cried  calmly — (  On 
your  knees,  base  slave  !  vile  dog  ! — down !  or  you 
die !' 

"  Unable  any  longer  to  support  his  frame,  the 
unmasked  coward  sunk  on  both  knees  and  prayed 
for  life  with  right-earnest  vehemence.  Again 
wild  shouts  of  applause  and  delight,  and  peals  of 
riotous  laughter,  stunned  his  ears.  As  he  rose 
from  his  humiliating  posture,  Arnold  touched  him 
contemptuously  with  his  foot.  Groans  and  hisses 
now  began  to  be  mingled  with  several  missives. 
Mentz  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  rushed 
from  the  room.  He  was  never  subsequently  seen 
among  us." 

"  And  Arnold  ?"  inquired  Norman. 

"  Had  been  jilted,  like  many  a  good  fellow 
before  him,  and  as  most  men  are  who  have  to  do 
with  women.  He  was  but  a  poor  artist,  after  all ; 
and  though  my  pretty  mistress  encouraged  him 
at  first,  taken  by  his  person  and  manners,  yet  he 
was  not  high  enough  for  the  daughter  even  of  a 
baron." 

VOL.   I. — I 


98  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"  And  what  became  of  Mentz  ?" 

"That  I  know  not.  He,  too,  soon  afterward 
vanished.  Thus  we  meet  and  part  in  this  world. 
But  I  shall  never  forget  the  shout  when  Mentz's 
knees  touched  the  floor.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
echoes  may  scarcely  yet  be  quiet  in  the  woods  of 
Saxony." 

"  I  understand  the  import  of  your  story,  Kreutz- 
ner,"  said  Norman,  after  a  moment's  pause ;  "  and 
am  glad  to  find  you  coincide  with  my  own  views. 
It  is  my  only  chance,  though  a  slender  one.  Fall 
one,  fall  both.  I  will  not  be  shot  down  with  im- 
punity by  this  professed,  cold-blooded  duellist." 

Kreutzner  received  his  instructions  accordingly. 


CHAPTER  XL 

In  which  the  extremes  of  Happiness  and  Misery  meet. 


'  Fare  thee  weel,  thou  first  and  fairest ! 
Fare  thee  weel,  thou  best  and  dearest ! 
Thine  be  ilka  joy  and  treasure — 
Peace,  enjoyment,  love,  and  pleasure." 

BURNS. 


AFTER  Kroutzner  left  him  Norman  hastened 
home,  and  employed  an  hour  in  writing  several 
brief  letters,  and  making  notes  of  certain  arrange- 
ments which  he  desired  to  have  attended  to,  in 
case  of  the  event  he  anticipated.  Having  finished 
these  duties,  he  resolved  to  call  on  Miss  Temple  ; 
a  melancholy  satisfaction  which,  while  the  party 
of  the  preceding  evening  rendered  necessary,  was 
peculiarly  in  consonance  with  his  own  feelings. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  99 

Accordingly  he  once  more  bent  his  steps  up 
Broadway,  and  almost  the  first  persons  he  met 
were  Mr.  Romain  and  his  daughter,  in  their  car- 
riage. The  beautiful  girl  bowed  her  nodding 
plumes  to  him  with  that  same  dangerous  smile  to 
which,  if  report  spoke  truth,  he,  in  common  with 
many  an  unwary  swain,  had  ventured  too  near. 
At  a  word  from  Mr.  Romain,  the  coachman  drew 
in  his  horses  near  the  sidewalk,  and  a  motion  from 
Rosalie  arrested  his  step. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Philosopher,"  she  said,  gayly  and 
familiarly,  «  how  does  your  wisdom  hold  out  after 
such  a  night  of  worldly  pleasure  ?" 

"Failing — vanished  and  gone/'  he  said,  with 
animation. 

"Come,  Leslie,"  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman, 
"  we  are  about,  after  one  or  two  turns,  calling  on 
the  Temples,  and — " 

"  And  as  pa  is  no  c  philosopher/  and  I  am  a  sad 
hand  at  the  business,  we  beg  Mr.  Leslie's  com- 
pany." 

"  With  pleasure,"  cried  Leslie ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  was  rolling  rapidly  along  towards  the 
mansion. 

"  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  Miss  Romain,  after  a  brief 
silence,  "  do  you  know  that  you  are  very  dull  to- 
day, and  very — " 

"Stupid,"  said  Leslie,  rousing  himself  from  his 
revery.  "Guilty — guilty,"  he  continued,  gayly, 
"  and'l  put  myself  upon  your  mercy." 

"  These  women,  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  Mr.  Romain, 
"  imagine  all  who  talk  nonsense  fluently  to  be  men 
of  parts,  and  all  who  think  more  than  they  speak 
to  be  stupid — " 

"  No,  pa — no,"  said  Rosalie,  "I  awfully  aware," 
and  her  eyes  crossed  those  of  Leslie,  "  that  a  gen- 
tleman may  be  a  stupid  companion  to  ladies  with- 
out being  actually  a  stupid  gentleman." 


100  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"  True,"  added  Norman ;  "  Miss  Remain  is  right. 
All  mankind,  and  womankind  too,  value  things  ac- 
cording to  their  power  upon  their  own  happiness. 
A  Newton  or  a  Galileo,  listless,  and  wrapped  up 
in  the  solitude  of  his  own  meditations,  would  meet, 
and  would  merit,  less  favour  and  cooler  welcome 
from  a  lady  than  the  youth  who  joined  her  in  music, 
who  sat  by  her  side  while  she  drew,  who  spoke  to 
her  in  a  language  congenial  to  her  taste,  and  who 
awoke  in  her  feelings  more  interesting  than  the 
stars  or  mathematics." 

"  That  is  right,"  Mr.  Leslie ;  "  I  would  rather 
have  a  sweet  bird  for  a  companion  than  a  philoso- 
pher ;"  she  glanced  her  eyes  again,  half-archly,  half- 
reproachfully,  at  Norman ;  "  for  a  bird  comes  at 
my  call — feeds  from  my  hand — sings  for  me  the 
warbles  I  have  taught  him — loves  me  only,  and 
nestles  in  my  bosom." 

"  Phoo,  child,  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Remain ;  "  men 
cannot  always  be  chatting  to  girls.  They  have 
other  matters  in  hand.  They  are  involved  in  re- 
flections upon  business,  or  science." 

"  Old  men,  pa,  like  you,  who  have  already  wives 
and  daughters ;  but  the  young  gentlemen  are  not — 
or,  at  least,"  with  another  slight  look  and  empha- 
sis, "ought  not  to  be  so  forgetful." 

"Stuff,  girl,  stuff,"  answered  the  old  gentleman, 
bluntly ;  "  aged  men  or  young,  in  these  times,  have 
enough  else  to  do  than  to  flutter  and  chirp  about 
women.  The  wisest  do  not  most  excel  in  the  par- 
rot-talk of  fashionable  life." 

"  Parrot-talk,  parrot-talk—why,  pa  !— Why,  Mr. 
Leslie !  how  can  you  sit  there,  like  an  owl,  and 
hear  such  calumnies  on  yourself,  and  me,  and  all 
our  friends  !  As  soon  as  gentlemen  are  married, 
and  settled  in  life,  they  think  all  talk  « parrot-talk' 
that  is  not  about  commerce  and  politics." 

"  You  are  both  right  and  both  wrong,"  replied 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  101 

Norman :  "  you,  Miss  Romain,  to  judge  so  harshly 
of  all  men  who  are  not  versed  in  the  easy  elegance 
of  the  drawing-room,  and  your  father  in  too  great 
lenity  towards  men  of  sense,  who,  in  the  pride  of 
influence  and  learning,  and  in  the  importance  of 
their  various  avocations,  forget  what  is  due  to  wo- 
man, even  though  she  be  not  wife,  mother,  or  sis- 
ter ;  for,  after  all,  we  must  acknowledge  that,  al- 
though she  does  nothing  at  our  elections,  and  can 
neither  build  nor  command  our  ships,  yet  she  ex- 
erts a  greater  influence  upon  our  happiness  than 
they  who  can — " 

The  young  lady  clapped  her  hands  in  affected 
delight. 

"  There,  pa  !  Do  you  hear  that?  Now  you  see 
a  little  severity  upon  these  sensible  men  is  very 
useful.  See  what  a  pretty  piece  of  eloquence  I 
have  lashed  out  of  Mr.  Leslie." 

The  young  lady  went  on  with  her  usual  liveli- 
ness. Sometimes  she  found  in  the  huge  omnibuses, 
of  which  large  numbers  traversed  the  town  in  all 
directions,  loaded  often  with  ten,  fifteen,  or  twenty 
people,  an  object  of  merriment.  Never  had  Nor- 
man known  her  to  rattle  on  more  unceasingly  and 
more  gayly.  There  was  Miss  L ,  who  had  re- 
jected thirty  gentlemen  actually  already,  at  Wash- 
ington, during  the  present  session  :  her  character 
was  dissected  in  ten  words.  There  was  Mr. 

R ,  the  author,  turning  the  corner,  whose  new 

poem  she  had  just  been  reading,  and  which  she 
criticised  with  wit  and  judgment.  Her  father,  a 
plain  and  blunt  man,  rarely  said  much,  and  suffered 
her  to  run  on  from  topic  to  topic  as  wildly  as  she 
pleased.  In  truth,  she  never  appeared  to  Norman 
more  like  the  singular  girl  she  really  was  than  on 
this  day.  She  combined  the  most  diametrically 
opposite  features  of  character.  At  one  time  ap- 
pearing contemptible  and  disagreeable ;  at  another, 


102  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

amiable,  elegant,  and  delightful.  With  great  in- 
telligence, she  was  eccentric,  and  at  times  shallow ; 
with  much  sensibility  and  temporary  feeling,  she 
was  capable  of  committing  the  most  deliberately 
cruel  and  heartless  actions  where  the  impulse 
seized  her.  No  one,  in  theory,  was  more  alive  to 
the  sense  of  right,  and  all  the  distinctions  and 
shades  of  moral  character.  No  one  could  deliver 
more  fine  sentiments ;  yet,  in  practice,  she  forgot  all 
the  rules  which  embellished  her  conversation.  She 
was  afflicted,  too,  with  the  mania  for  display.  That 
passion  weakened,  hid,  and,  at  last,  nearly  swallowed 
up  all  the  rest.  But  for  that,  her  character  was 
not  without  much  to  excite  esteem.  But  esteem 
was  too  homely  a  reward  for  her  taste :  she  must 
create  a  sensation ;  she  must  hear  the  murmur  of 
applause ;  behold  the  gaze  of  admiration  ;  and  de- 
tect the  glance  of  envy.  She  was  ambitious,  by 
her  personal  charms  and  the  allurements  of  her 
address,  to  attract  attention  from  all  about  her ;  par- 
ticularly from  those  the  "  daily  beauty"  of  whose 
lives  rebuked  her  meretricious  accomplishments. 
From  violations  of  strict  propriety  she  advanced 
to  those  of  delicacy,  though  none  could  more  sin- 
cerely shudder  at  the  approach  of  vice.  Alas  !  she 
had  yet  to  learn  that  the  path  from  the  road  of  vir- 
tue does  not  boldly  strike  out  at  once,  but  that  its 
early  deviations  are  scarcely  perceptible :  that  it 
conducts  the  unsuspecting  traveller  many  times 
aside  through  the  most  enchanting  prospects,  and 
returns  her  again  safely  to  the  right  road,  before  it 
stretches  away  at  last  to  the  fatal  precipice,  from 
whose  brink  retreat  is  vain.  She  was  sufficiently 
artful,  too,  to  trespass,  both  in  dress  and  manners, 
over  the  boundary  line  of  modest  decorum  ;  but  in 
a  degree  so  imperceptible,  as  to  pass  well  enough 
among  her  indulgent  flatterers  for  commendable 
grace  and  innocent  unconsciousness.  She  thus 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  103 

succeeded  in  securing  the  admiration  of  a  host  of 
lovers,  but  she  had  long  since  forfeited  the  respect 
of  Norman  Leslie.  Her  evident  hints  to  him,  and 
her  rather  open  compliments,  even  at  this  solemn 
crisis  of  his  life  struck  him  very  unfavourably. 

"  The  syren,"  he  thought,  as  she  leaned  famil- 
iarly over  towards  him,  with  more  than  the  unre- 
strained carelessness  of  a  favoured  sister :  "  these 
are  the  women  who  lower  the  sex.  Can  they  be 
all  thus  ?  The  sweet  unconsciousness  and  irre- 
pressible spirits  of  Flora,  that  careless,  happy  girl 
— can  they  be  affected  ?" 

He  remembered  Julia.  Her  he  knew — her  he 
loved  ;  and  her  image  re-established  that  confi- 
dence in  woman  which  such  as  Miss  Remain  are 
too  apt  to  undermine. 

Miss  Romain  appeared  conscious  of  the  unfa- 
vourable effect  which  her  usual  artifices  had  pro- 
duced on  Norman,  and  gradually  elevated  the  tone 
of  her  manner  and  conversation.  When  she 
pleased,  she  could  be  really  a  charming  companion. 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  she,  "  did  you  ever  see 
such  weather  ?" 

'!  It  is  extraordinary,  indeed.  It  is  almost  spring. 
Scarcely  a  trace  of  the  snow  left." 

"  What  has  softened  the  heart  of  the  grim  old 
winter  so,  I  cannot  conceive,"  she  continued,  "  un- 
less the  account  be  received  as  orthodox,  and  these 
atmospheric  phenomena  imply  another  of  her 
brawls  with  her  jealous  Oberon,"  arid  she  recited, 
with  exquisite  taste,  those  celebrated  lines — 

«  We  see 

The  seasons  alter  ;  hoary  headed  frosts 

Fall  in  the  fresh  lap  of  the  crimson  rose  ; 

And  on  old  Hyem's  chin,  and  icy  crown, 

An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  summer  buds 

Is,  as  in  mockery,  set :  the  spring,  the  summer, 

The  chilling  autumn,  angry  winter,  change 

Their  wonted  liveries  ;  and  the  'mazed  world, 

By  their  increase,  now  knows  not  which  is  which." 


104  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

»  How  seductive,  really,  is  this  bland  and  balmy 
air !"  said  Leslie,  a  few  moments  afterward. 
"  What  breezes  to  welcome  in  the  New-year,  which 
generally  strides  to  his  throne  amid  all  the  glow  of 
elemental  war!" 

"But  when  January  and  December  thus  forget 
themselves,"  rejoined  Miss  Remain,"  "their sunny 
smiles  are  sadly  fleeting  ;  like  the  civilities  of  ill- 
tempered  people,  soon  amply  counteracted  by 
boisterous  suddenness,  or  chilling  ill-humour." 

"  Yet,"  added  Leslie,  "  even  like  those  civilities, 
they  appear  more  agreeable  and  remarkable  for 
their  infrequency  and  contrast." 

"  Yes,"  returned  his  companion,  "  how  heartily 
one  does  love  a  downright  cross  person  when  he 
smiles  !" 

"  Warm-hearted  summer  and  lordly  generous 
autumn  could  scarcely  be  more  smiling  and  friend- 
ly," said  Leslie  ;  "  but  it  is  an  arrant  piece  of  flirta- 
tion, for  which  we  will  doubtless  have  to  pay  by- 
and-by." 

"  But  did  you  ever  see  Broadway  so  full  and 
fashionable  ?"  said  she,  as  they  returned  several 
bows  ;  "  and  the  folks  are  getting  affected,  and  be- 
gin to  put  on  as  many  airs  and  graces  as  might  be- 
come the  beautiful  June  herself.  See,  the  cloaks 
and  thick  shoes  are  left  at  home  ;  the  boa  (pun  ac- 
cidental, Mr.  Leslie)  is  a  bore.  Yonder  is  a  gen- 
tleman actually  wiping  his  forehead  ;  and  here,  a 
fat  lady,  with  a  capacious  parasol,  shielding  her- 
self (forsooth  !)  from  the  fervour  of  the  sun.  Ah, 
wait  a  bit,  good  people.  I  should  like  to  see  that 
lady's  nose  a  few  days  hence." 

The  carriage  stopped  at  Mrs.  Temple's,  and  the 
party  were  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  ladies. 
Norman  was  surprised  to  find  the  count  there  ;  and 
apparently  interested  in  conversation  with  Flora  ; 
who  looked,  at  least  in  Norman's  eyes,  beautiful  be- 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  105 

yond  herself.  A  slight  colour  overspread  her 
cheeks.  Miss  Remain  thought  it  sprung  from  the 
sudden  sight  of  Leslie.  Norman  presumed  it  had 
been  called  up  by  the  previous  conversation  of  the 
count.  The  customary  formalities  were  performed. 
Norman  bowed  loftily  to  his  now  deadly  foe,  when 
the  latter  stepped  forward  with  an  easy  air,  and, 
extending  his  own,  shook  the  hand  of  Leslie  with 
the  careless  ease  of  friendship.  Never  had  he  ap- 
peared more  gay  and  self-possessed.  Indeed,  all 
the  party  were  unusually  animated ;  while  Nor- 
man, with  a  heart  of  lead,  strove  in  vain  to  throw 
off  his  gloom. 

It  was  now  that,  with  the  unrestrained  license  of 
his  imagination,  he  acknowledged,  and  painted  in 
the  most  lively  colours,  his  love  for  Flora ;  nor 
could  he  help,  once  or  twice  when  their  eyes  met, 
betraying,  with  all  their  wordless  language,  the 
affection  of  his  soul.  After  one  of  these  looks, 
hastily  withdrawn,  as  if  the  heart  feared  the  treach- 
ery of  the  eyes,  Count  Clairmont  casually  uttered 
a  sentiment  evidently  directed  to  Flora,  and  imply- 
ing, by  his  air  and  manner,  perhaps  more  than  by 
his  words,  that  he  was  on  familiar  terms  with  her 
as  a  favoured  lover.  It  shot  through  Norman's  ear 
and  heart ;  and,  forgetful  of  his  restraint,  with  a 
cloud  of  melancholy  on  his  brow,  and  a  thought  that 
a  few  hours  would  relieve  him  from  a  proud  and 
unrequited  love,  he  looked  towards  her  again,  and 
once  more  fully  and  unequivocally  caught  her 
glance.  If  ever  woman's  eyes  had  meaning,  that 
glance  said,  "  Dear  Norman,  believe  it  not !  I  love 
only  you."  For  one  instant  their  gaze  rested  and 
clung  together,  the  delicious  sense  of  vision  enter- 
ing with  a  heavenly  power  into  each  other's  hearts 
and  minds — an  embrace  of  souls,  perfectly  re- 
turned, perfectly  understood,  and  steeped  in  the 
confidence,  the  bliss,  the  enchantment  of  mutual 


106  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

love.  The  blood  leaped  to  the  cheek  and  temple  of 
the  before  desponding  youth  ;  his  heart  ached,  his 
soul  trembled  with  the  shock  of  delight.  "  She 
loves  me  !"  he  inwardly  exclaimed,  with  such  ex- 
quisite happiness  as  he  had  never  before  known ; 
and  as  much  changed  as  if  suddenly  relieved  from 
the  malign  influence  of  a  vile  enchanter,  and -lifted 
into  the  protection  of  some  blessed  spirit,  he  en- 
tered at  once  into  the  conversation  with  more  than 
his  usual  ardour.  But  such  ethereal  gleams  of  joy 
shine  on  mortals  only  with  a  transient  brightness. 

"Norman,"  cried  Miss  Remain,  coming  sud- 
denly round  to  him,  and  putting  her  arm  uncon- 
sciously across  his  chair,  so  as  to  bring  it  nearly 
around  his  shoulder.  This  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  called  him  "  Norman."  He  would  have 
withdrawn,  but  she  whispered  in  his  ear — 

"  I  have  just  heard  a  most  profound  secret." 

"What?" 

«  Flora  Temple—" 

"  What  of  her  ?"  he  asked  eagerly,  off  his  guard, 
and  forgetting  his  distant  manner. 

"  She  is  engaged  to  be  married  in  two  months" 
— and  again,  according  to  her  frequent  custom, 
she  placed  her  lips  to  his  face,  so  close  as  nearly  to 
touch  his  cheek — "  to  Count  Clairmont." 

What  a  vast  fabric  of  bliss  dissolved  in  a  mo- 
ment !  What  a  mighty  world  of  gayety  and  splen- 
dour quenched  in  the  blackest  night ! 

"  Pray,  what  is  all  this  whispering  about  ?"  said 
Flora;  but  her  manner  was  changed,  and  ill  at 
ease.  "  Miss  Romain,  I  have  to  beg  the  pleasure  of 
your  company  to-morrow  evening  to  a  little  mu- 
sical party." 

"  Oh,  delightful,  delightful !"  answered  the  gay 
girl,  with  a  secret  triumph  at  the  havoc  which  she 
felt  instinctively  she  had  made. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  107 

"  And  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  Flora,  "  will  do  us  the 
favour — " 

"  I  cannot  promise,"  replied  Norman,  coolly. 
"  To-morrow  evening  I  shall  be  necessarily  ab- 
sent." 

"  Well,  sir,  just  as  you  please  ;  if  you  can  find 
leisure  from  more  agreeable  occupations,  we  shall 
bid  you  welcome.  Come,  gentlemen,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  you  are  all  to  contribute  something,  as 
well  as  the  ladies,  towards  the  entertainment. 
Count,  you  shall  sing  those  beautiful  airs  of  yours ; 
Miss  Remain,  the  harp  ;  and — Mr.  Leslie,  do  you 
not  sing  ?" 

"  Why,  you  have  heard  him  frequently,"  said 
Miss  Rornain  :  "  how  forgetful  !" 

"  True,  true ;  I  beg  his  pardon — I  had  forgotten." 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  in  a  duet,"  resumed  Miss  Ro- 
main,  "  he  has  few  competitors." 

"  Are  you  practised  in  any  with  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  whole  host !"  cried  Miss  Remain. 
"  There's  'Dear  maid,  by  every  hope  of  bliss' — '  By 
Love's  first  pledge,  the  virgin  kiss,'  your  favourite, 
you  know,  Norman — " 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  count,  who,  seating 
himself  at  the  piano,  ran  his  fingers  over  the 
chords,  and  sung  with  great  taste  a  French  air — 
directly  at  Miss  Temple.  It  was  expressive  of 
successful  love,  and  called  forth  « a  beautiful'  from 
every  lip.  Flora  received  it  with  a  gracious  ad- 
miration ;  that,  while  in  reality  it  might  spring  from 
wounded  pride  or  love,  and  that  retaliating  propen- 
sity which,  perhaps,  not  only  woman,  but  all  the 
victims  of  either  sex,  have  experienced  under  the 
operation  of  the  capricious  little  deity,  who  trans- 
forms character  as  he  does  all  other  wordly  cir- 
cumstances, still  went  to  the  heart  of  Norman. 

"  lam,  as  the  French  say,  quite  desoti  about  this," 
said  Flora,  holding  in  her  hand  a  small  manuscript 


108  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

piece  of  music.  "  It  is  the  most  touching  and 
plaintive  air  I  ever  heard  ;  but  is  without  words. 
It  has  the  melancholy  pathos  of  a  last  adieu.  I 
should  fancy,  now,  that  some  lover — some  pas- 
sionate, faithful,  chivalric  lover — full  of  distant 
pride  and  timid  delicacy,  and  doubtful  of  his  mis- 
tress's favour,  had  sung  it  to  her  in  the  great  hall, 
with  his  minstrel  harp — with  '  sandal  shoon  and 
scailop  shell.'  I  will  bestow  my  thanks  upon  any 
one  who  will  supply  appropriate  words.  Come, 
count,  your  pen  has  been  idle  too  long." 

"  Why,  Norman,"  cried  Miss  Romain, "  you  know 
this  little  air.  It  is  the  sweet  morceau  from  Rosini, 
which  you  admire  so  much." 

"  But  is  Mr.  Leslie  an  improvisitore  ?"  asked 
Flora. 

"  1  assure  you,"  answered  Miss  Romain,  with  an 
ostentatious  blush,  "  I  know  it  by  many  evidences  ; 
and  I  am  certain  he  will  not  refuse  me  one  more." 

"  I  fear,"  cried  Norman,  "  the  subject  is  beyond 
my  comprehension." 

"  If  I  dare  ask,  after  Miss  Romain  has  pleaded 
unsuccessfully,"  said  Miss  Temple,  with  a  sarcasm 
foreign  from  her  nature,  and  very  unusual  in  her ; 
but  she  perceived  instantly  she  had  given  pain,  and, 
with  another  of  those  looks  which,  from  such  eyes, 
vibrate  along  the  nerves  of  the  lover  with  tremours 
of  heaven,  she  added,  "  Come,  Mr.  Leslie,  it  is  my 
first  request." 

"Give it  me,"  said  Norman ;  "  I  will— I  will  try  ; 
and  it  shall  be  my  last  effort  at  poetry." 

Impulse,  which  so  often  betrays  into  dilemmas, 
sometimes  conducts  to  points  which  sober  dumess 
would  never  think  of  reaching.  In  a  few  moments 
Norman  availed  himself  of  a  pause  in  the  conver- 
sation, and  addressed  Flora : — 

"  Miss  Temple,  at  your  request,  and  on  the  hint 
of  your  imagination,  I  have  thrown  together  a  few 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  109 

iities,  superficial  and  imperfect  of  course ;  but,  as 
the  last  effort,  they  may  be  pardoned  any  fault. 
You  are  to  suppose,  then,  exactly  the  circumstances 
suggested  by  yourself.  A  fair  lady  is  beloved  by 
a  knight,  who  doubts,  perhaps  with  too  much  cause, 
whether  his  mistress  approves,  or  even  knows  his 
attachment.  On  the  eve  of  a  fierce  battle,  in  which 
he  feels  a  certain  presentiment  that  he  must  fall,  he 
ventures,  what  before  he  had  never  by  word  or  look 
ventured,  to  express  a  part  of  his  feelings  to  the 
lady.  She  listens  coldly — applauds  without  under- 
standing ;  for  she  knows  not  that  the  humble  min- 
strel is  a  knight  who  loves  her,  and  who  stands  on 
the  brink  of  danger.  Thus  eluding  his  purpose, 
she  suffers  him  to  depart  from  her  presence,  quite 
unconscious  of  their  import  and  their  application, 
till  the  subsequent  day,  when  she  hears  that  the 
gentle  minstrel  was  a  true  knight,  and  that  the  lips 
which  breathed  music  and  love  to  her  averted  ear 
now  lie  cold  in  the  earth." 

"  And  what  then  ?"  cried  Flora,  unconsciously 
betraying  her  interest  in  the  fiction. 

"I  do  but  jest,  Miss  Temple,"  said  Norman. 
*'  Such  events  have  often  occurred,  and  will  again. 
How  ladies  feel  when  too  late  aware  of  faithful 
love,  cherished  for  them  against  hope  by  the  un- 
happy, must  depend  upon  them." 

He  raised  his  glance  to  her  once  more,  and  once 
more  their  eyes  met.  Miss  Romain,  uneasy  at  this 
communion,  whether  intentional  or  accidental,  ex- 
claimed— 

"  I  dare  pronounce  that  the  false  creature  smiled 
just  over  his  grave,  as  she  had  done  on  his  living 
love,  and  wedded,  peradventure,  the  warrior  who 
slew  him." 

"  And  I,"  said  Flora,  "  that  she  had  loved  him  all 
the  while  in  secret ;  and  plunged  in  sudden  anguish 
at  his  fate,  withdrew  from  the  world,  and  devoted 

VOL.  I. — K 


HO  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

herself  to  Heaven.     That  is  the  way,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile,  "  in  all  those  old  stories." 

What  passing  shadow  is  too  light  for  the  ali- 
ment of  love  ?  As  in  the  visions  of  the  sleeper 
the  most  improbable  and  opposite  fragments  of 
adventures  sweep  on  and  mingle  together,  changing 
and  shifting  with  a  facility  that  renders  all  probable 
and  real ;  now  leading  the  spirit  along  skyish  cliffs 
and  endless  oceans,  through  storms,  deserts,  battles, 
and  death  ;  and  now  melting  into  gardens,  bowers, 
music,  and  bliss :  so  the  victim  of  Cupid,  however 
sober  and  sensible  his  mind  may  be  in  sanity,  now 
finds  the  surrounding  world  breaking  apart,  and 
blending  together  with  mighty  and  incredible  revo- 
lutions—the vastest  impossibilities  at  once  within 
his  grasp,  the  most  trivial  common  places  grown 
vast  and  impossible. 

Norman,  who  one  moment  before  saw  the  bolt 
of  destruction  fall  on  his  hope,  now — by  the  tone 
of  a  voice,  the  beam  of  a  pair  of  tender  eyes, 
by  some  half-unrepressed  meaning  in  a  word  or  an 
attitude — saw  piles  of  gorgeous  hopes,  heaven- 
kissing  mountains  of  joy,  peer  up  before  him,  as 
he  listened  to  the  simple  and  sweet  conjectures  of 
the  lovely  girl.  Without  further  preface,  he  begged 
her  to  accompany  him  ;  for  though  quite  without 
the  rapid  execution  of  Rosalie,  as  often  happens 
in  similar  persons,  she  was  infinitely  her  superior 
in  the  intuitive  power,  taste,  and  feeling  of  an  ac- 
companiment. All  felt  curiosity  to  hear  the  lines  ; 
and  as  Flora  ran  over  a  sweet  and  plaintive  prel- 
ude, her  countenance,  half  flung  back  over  her 
shoulder  as  she  played,  was  raised  towards  his 
face,  and  in  a  rich  sweet  voice  he  sang  the  follow- 
ing lines : — 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  Ill 

I. 

"  Farewell !  farewell !  some  happier  breast 

Will  beat  beneath  that  lovely  cheek ; 
Some  worthier  hand  to  thine  be  press'd, 

Requited  love  to  speak. 
Oh,  never  more  within  thy  smile, 

Who  thrills  to  feel  it  now  shall  dwell ; 
But,  mouldering  in  his  grave  the  while, 
Forget  this  sad  farewell ! 

II. 

"  The  die  is  cast— the  fate  is  sealed— 

The  dark,  the  fatal  doom  is  spoken ! 
Oh  !  never  be  my  heart  revealed, 

Until  that  heart  be  broken. 
How  much  I  loved,  how  low  I  knelt, 

No  ear  shall  hear — no  tongue  shall  tell : 
Such  love  as  this,  oh !  who  hath  felt, 
Or  such  a  sad  farewell ! 


III. 

;  Too  true  they  prove  thou  lov'st  me  not — 
Those  sunny  eyes,  that  tranquil  brow  ; 
Too  soon  will  be  my  name  forgot — 

Alas !  forgotten  now. 
And  thou  wilt  own  no  fond  regret, 

No  bursting  pang  thy  breast  will  swell : 
But,  when  to-morrow's  sun  is  set, 
Remember  this  farewell !" 


There  was  something  in  Norman's  manner  and 
appearance  at  all  times  high  and  commanding ; 
but,  at  the  moment  of  his  pronouncing  the  last  line, 
his  tall  form  and  noble  features  were  so  strongly 
expressive  of  melancholy,  yet  lofty  emotion,  so 
regardless  of  all  disguise  and  all  propriety,  that 
every  one  present,  except  the  gentle  girl  herself, 
felt  instinctively  that  he  loved  her  devotedly. 
Even  she,  as  he  thanked  her  for  the  sweetness  with 
which  she  had  accompanied  him,  saw  in  his  eyes 
a  humid  brightness,  and  betrayed  embarrassment 
and  softness  unusual  to  her.  The  colour  on  her 
cheek,  higher  and  warmer  than  he  had  ever  seen 


112  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

it  before,  told  a  tale  that  made  each  glance  of 
Norman's  a  sweet  and  giddy  rapture.  Miss  Ro- 
main  again  hastened  to  interrupt  an  interview 
which,  although  enjoyed  in  the  presence  of  so 
many,  was  thus,  by  the  natural  freemasonry  of 
love,  invested  with  half  the  dear  charm  and  con- 
fidence of  a  tete-a-tete.  The  count,  in  turn,  sat 
down  at  the  piano,  with  a  jest  and  a  compliment  to 
Rosalie,  and  struck  the  keys  to  a  merry  and  bril- 
liant French  air,  as  if  to  break  the  train  into  which 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  all  seemed  to  have 
fallen. 

Old  Mr.  Romain  had  kept  Mrs.  Temple  busily 
conversing  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  adjoining 
room.  As  they  entered,  Norman  remembered  the 
necessity  of  his  departure,  took  his  leave,  and 
with  a  swelling  heart  regarded  Flora,  into  whose 
sweet  blue  eyes  he  might  never  look  again. 

But  Fortune,  who  in  some  moods  refuses  what 
mortals  deem  their  simple  rights,  and  in  others 
grants  far  beyond  their  expectations,  now  bestowed 
upon  the  youth  the  precise  blessing  which,  of  all 
others,  at  this  moment,  he  most  earnestly  desired. 
A  servant  entered  and  informed  Miss  Temple  that 
her  father  wished  to  speak  with  her  in  the  library. 
Scarcely  believing  his  own  eyes,  and  while  the  rest 
•were  absorbed  in  conversation  together,  Leslie  saw 
Flora  rise,  disentangle  herself  from  the  group,  and 
follow  him  into  the  hall.  Some  accident  closed 
the  door  behind  her.  They  stood  together-^- 
dlone. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  113 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  Quarrel  with  an  Object  of  Love  at  the  Moment  of  Recon- 
ciliation with  one  of  Hate  ;  and  wherein  is  shown,  for  the 
forty-seven  thousandth  Time,  what  a  Foot-ball  Man  is  to 
Fortune. 

"  She's  fair  and  fause  that  causes  my  smart ; 

I  lo'ed  her  meikle  and  lang : 
She's  broken  her  vow,  she's  broken  my  heart, 

And  I  may  e'en  gae  hang. 

A  coof  cam  in  wi'  rowth  o'  gear, 

And  I  hae  tint  my  dearest  dear ; 

But  woman  is  but  warld's  gear, 

Sae  let  the  bonnie  lass  gang." 

BURNS. 


THE  romantic  heart  of  Norman  Leslie  could  but 
inadequately  bid  Flora  an  adieu  that  might  be 
eternal  before  a  crowd  of  gazing  spectators.  He 
had,  therefore,  in  the  fulness  of  his  triumph  and  his 
anguish,  veiled  all  agitation ;  and  bowed  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  with  scarcely  a  look. 

"  She  will  remember  me,"  he  thought ;  "  she 
will  understand  me — to-morrow." 

When  he  found  himself  alone,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  with  the  idol  of  his  secret  thoughts  and 
dreams — who  swayed  his  feelings  as  the  moon 
swells  the  tides,  and  leaves  them  again  to  their 
retiring  ebbs — now  that  he  had  half-expressed  his 
love,  and  half- believed  the  expression  returned,  he 
knew  not  what  to  say.  Had  he  known,  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  he  could  have  said  it,  his  heart  beat  so 
violently  in  his  bosom.  Women  have  naturally 

K2 


114  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

more  presence  of  mind  than  men  in  such  matters : 
those  little  emergencies  which  silently  checker 
the  existence  of  the  quiet  student  in  peaceful 
modern  times — to  him  all  as  striking  and  memor- 
able as  breaking  a  lance  or  storming  a  town  to 
a  knight  of  other  days.  Flora  broke  the  silence  ; 
but,  even  through  her  graceful  and  becoming  self- 
possession,  a  certain  agitation  and  embarrassment 
exhibited  themselves,  enchanting  to  the  young 
lover  beyond  expression. 

"  I  have  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Leslie,  for  the  song." 

He  blushed.  He  could  not  well  speak.  Love 
is  a  great  taker  away  of  the  voice.  He  found, 
however,  sufficient  self-possession  to  reach  forth 
his  hand,  and  gently  to  enclose  in  it  that  of  Flora. 
She  cast  down  her  eyes.  Norman's  very  heart 
trembled  ;  but  at  this  moment  he  remembered 
Morton,  and  contented  himself  with  pressing  the 
hand  he  held,  as  if  he  had  taken  it  in  the  ordinary 
kindness  of  a  farewell.  He  could  not,  however, 
wholly  command  his  manner,  as  he  said, — 

"  Dear  Miss  Temple,  it  may  be  very  long  before 
I  see  you  again." 

"  Are  you  leaving  town,  Mr.  Leslie  ?" 

"No,  not  immediately,"  he  replied,  and  with 
less  embarrassment;  "but  a  painful  duty  may 
exclude  me,  perhaps,  from  the  pleasures  of  so- 
ciety." 

"  Mr.  Leslie  !"— her  eyes  rested  full  on  him. 

"  And  from  yours"  he  added. 

"  And  that  beautiful  song,"  she  said,  as  if  con- 
scious that  propriety  would  permit  her  to  press 
him  no  further,  "  is  it  a  present  for  me  ?" 

"  If  you  deem  it  worthy — " 

"  I  shall  value  it,"  she  answered,  "  as  your 
gift." 

For  all  his  manhood,  a  moisture  gathered  in  his 
eye.  She  looked  up  again.  He  forgot  every 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  115 

thing  but  that  look.  He  once  more  seized  her 
hand.  She  turned  away  her  face.  "  Dear,  dear 
Flora !  how  I  love  you  !"  had  nearly  escaped  his 
lips,  when  the  front-door  suddenly  opened,  and 
Morton  burst  furiously  in.  Flora  vanished  in  an 
instant. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare,"  exclaimed  Morton,  coming 
suddenly  to  a  stop  at  the  demure  group  which 
he  had  broken  up  in  the  hall — "who  was  that? 
Oh  ho!  Master  Gravity — mums  the  word — spoiled 
sport,  eh  ?  Well,  I  never — my  dear,  dear  Norman 
— if  I  had  only  known  ;  if  I  had  only  suspected — '* 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  Norman,  blushing ;  for  he 
was  one  of  those  men  who  inherit  that  woman's 
virtue. 

"  That's  it,  my  fine  fellow,"  cried  Morton,  his 
finger  on  his  nose — "  I  am  up  to  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  What,  three  !  One  too  many,  hey  ?  Well, 
I  declare—" 

"I  tell  you — "  cried  Norman,  quickly  and  sternly; 
for  he  loved  not  jesting  on  such  points. 

"  Oh,"  interrupted  Morton,  "  you  need  not  tell 
me.  There's  no  necessity  for  it  at  all.  Fy  !  you 
cunning  dog — you — but,  monDieu! — I  forget.  Is 
not  Miss  Temple  here  ?"  and  in  he  went  with  little 
ceremony. 

Norman  waited  a  moment  anxiously  in  hope 
that  Flora  might  return.  He  was  at  once  the 
happiest  and  most  miserable  of  human  beings.  He 
was  on  the  eve  of  the  wildest  bliss  he  ever  knew; 
and  he  was  also  rushing  madly  into  the  grave.  He 
loved  Flora  Temple  now  more  devotedly  than 
ever.  He  owned  it.  He  felt  it.  That  which  had 
before  dwelt  in  his  heart  a  half-buried  spark,  was 
now  fanned  into  a  blaze.  What  singular  fatality 
connected  him  with  the  silly  and  good-humoured 
Morton,  that  by  his  agency  he  should  be  frustrated 
in  the  happiest  moment  of  his  existence,  and  his 


116  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

existence  itself  be  brought  to  a  fearful  termination. 
Now,  too,  the  conviction  rushed  on  his  soul,  that 
Flora  Temple  loved  him.  He  believed  and  hailed 
it  in  the  face  of  reason,  of  probability,  and  of  the 
express  authority  of  Miss  Remain.  But  what 
are  reason,  probability,  or  authority  to  a  lover, 
against  the  plain  and  sweet  eloquence  of  the  eyes, 
which  should  know  best  of  all  ?  What  was  he 
now  to  do  ?  Wait  ?  see  Flora  once  more,  reveal 
his  love  frankly,  and  bid  her  farewell  for  ever  ?  or 
should  he — thus  in  doubt  whether  his  passion  was 
requited — fly  at  once  from  her  dear  and  dangerous 
presence,  and,  yielding  his  throat  to  the  slaughter 
of  a  fierce,  bloody,  and  certain  hand,  die  just  at  the 
gates  of  paradise  ?  "  Oh !  were  I  escaped  from 
this  fatal  duel,"  he  thought,  "  I  would  ask  no  more 
of  fortune.  May  Providence  interfere  now,  and 
rescue  me  from  this  awful  dilemma,  and  my  cup 
of  bliss  will  be  full  to  overflowing.  Never  again 
will  I  complain  of  destiny !" 

As  he  lingered  one  moment,  at  a  loss  what  to 
do,  he  was  startled  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a 
female  figure. 

"  Flora  ?"  he  said. 

It  was  not  Flora.  The  tall  form  of  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple rose  before  him  with  a  step  more  than  usually 
stately,  and  an  expression  in  her  face  severe  an'd 
repelling. 

"  Bless  me,"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Leslie  !" 

If  the  youth  had  blushed  before,  he  now  crim- 
soned with  tenfold  embarrassment. 

"  Well  met,  Mr.  Leslie,"  resumed  Mrs.  Temple, 
in  a  tone  of  sarcasm ;  "  I  have  been  about  to  re- 
quest the  honour  of  a  personal  interview,  and  now 
fate  favours  me  beyond  my  deserts,  though  you, 
perhaps,  will  not  share  in  the  pleasure  of  my  sur- 
prise." 

"Madam,"  replied    Norman,   bowing,    "why 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  117 

should  I  feel  other  than  pleasure  at  the  sight  of 
Mrs.  Temple?" 

"  Because,  by  the  name  on  your  lips,  I  presume 
your  thoughts  were  upon  a  different  and  more 
welcome  person.  I  understand  you  ;  but  I  regret 
the  painful  necessity  of  putting  you  right.  A 
dangerous  disorder,  Mr.  Leslie,  must  be  cured, 
although,  in  the  operation,  the  patient  shrink,  and 
the  surgeon  holds  the  knife  with  reluctance.  You 
are  not  at  a  loss  for  my  meaning." 

"  Indeed,  madam,  but  I  am  most  profoundly," 
replied  Norman  ;  feeling,  however,  that  her  proud 
and  haughty  character  was  bearing  her  beyond 
the  pale  of  delicacy  and  good-breeding. 

"  In  plain  terms,  then,  Mr.  Leslie,  Mr.  Temple 
has  requested  me  to  express  our  high  appreciation 
of  your  character ;  but  to  say,  that  we  have  ob- 
served with  regret  your  marked  attentions  to 
Flora.  We  appeal  to  your  generosity,  Mr. 
Leslie"  (Leslie  bowed) ;  "  we  confide  in  your  hon- 
our. Flora's  hand  is  already  pledged  to  another. 
To  save  yourself  future  pain,  and  her  unnecessary 
embarrassment,  1  seize  the  earliest  opportunity  to 
explain  this  to  you  frankly.  Flora  will,  I  am  cer- 
tain, always  be  most  happy  to  see  Mr.  Leslie  as  a 
friend.  Good-morning,  sir." 

Again  Norman  bowed  low;  nor  lifted  his  face 
till  he  was  alone.  To  him  this  appeared  an  in- 
sult. The  supercilious  condescension,  the  haughty 
dismissal  of  Mrs.  Temple,  showed  her  impetuous 
character  in  its  least  favourable  light.  Flora  was; 
then,  in  truth,  the  affianced  bride  of  another.  Her 
softness  towards  him  was  either  imaginary,  or  as- 
sumed out  of  pity  or  sport.  Stung  by  the  thought, 
he  was  in  the  act  of  flying  for  ever  from  the  in- 
auspicious mansion,  when  a  slight  shriek  arrested 
his  step.  Was  it  fancy  ?  or  was  it  the  voice  of 
Flora?  He  re-entered  the  apartment,  alarmed, 


118  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

and  surprised  by  the  confusion  which  prevailed. 
The  ladies  were  standing,  and  apparently  agitated 
with  the  most  sudden  and  lively  apprehension. 
The  count  appeared  erect,  proudly  listening  to 
entreaties  directed  to  him  with  the  utmost  fervour 
by  all  present ;  and,  as  if  a  sight  of  death  or  pesti- 
lence had  blasted  his  eyes,  Norman  beheld  Flora, 
pale  and  frightened,  foremost  in  her  earnest  solici- 
tations, with  her  hand  on  the  count's  arm,  in  the 
ardour  of  her  exclamations. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Leslie !"  cried  Mrs.  Temple,  "  could 
we  haVe  expected  this  from  you  !" 

"A  pretty  fright,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Remain. 
"  Oh,  Norman,  dear  Norman  !  abandon  this  horrid 
affair." 

"  For  me,  count,  for  me,"  cried  Flora,  "  spare 
his  blood  !" 

"  I  perceive,"  said  Norman,  who  always  rose 
in  energy  and  ease  in  proportion  to  the  emer- 
gency, and  whose  present  manner  was  cold  and 
freezing — "I  perceive,  by  some  mischance,  that 
which  should  have  been  concealed  is  betrayed  ; 
but  let  me  entreat  Miss  Temple,  when  she  solicits 
my  lord  count  there,  to  place  her  request  on  any 
other  ground  than  my  safety." 

A  reproachful  and  surprised  look  from  Flora, 
shot  at  his  heart,  broke  harmless  as  an  arrow 
against  a  steel  corslet.  He  felt  his  soul  fully 
armed  against  her  fascinations. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Leslie !"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  "  for  our 
sake  forbear  from  this  fatal,  this  dreadful  meet- 
ing !" 

"  You  must  allow  me  to  assure  you,"  rejoined 
Norman,  "  that  no  other  power  rests  in  my  hand 
than  that  of  obstinate  acquiescence  in  the  Count 
Clairmont's  invitation.  In  this  affair  he  has  been 
quite  the  aggressor,  and  I  can  request  nothing  at 
his  hands." 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  119 

"  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  Flora,  "  you  will  surely  listen 
to  our  request." 

"  Much  as  it  would  flatter  me  to  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  obliging  Miss  Temple,  I  have  neither  the 
power  nor  the  wish  to  do  so  here." 

"  But  for  me,  dear  Norman,"  cried  Miss  Ro- 
main,  sobbing  aloud,  and  approaching  him  with  a 
familiarity  which  might  be  excused  by  the  general 
agitation. 

"  For  you,  Miss  Remain,"  said  he,  still  burning 
with  resentment  against  Flora,  "I  wish  to  do 
much ;  but  you  address  yourself  to  one  who  has 
no  more  power  than  yourself  over  the  circum- 
stances." 

Mr.  Remain,  who  had  stood  a  silent  spectator 
of  this  scene,  at  length  said,  in  his  blunt  way, — 

"Come,  come,  young  gentlemen — this  matter 
must  be  settled,  or  we  shall  be  compelled  to  seek 
aid  from  the  authorities." 

"  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  the  count,  "  you  have  done 
me  wrong.  You  think  me  unforgiving ;  I  am  not 
so.  As  a  proof — partly  at  the  command  of  these 
ladies,  whom  I  am  bound  to  obey,  and  partly  be- 
cause I  am  convinced  that  I  might  myself  last 
night  have  furnished  more  cause  of  offence  than  I 
intended — I  wave  all  other  considerations,  and 
withdraw  my  invitation.  My  warmth  last  even- 
ing was  premature.  I  apologize  for  the  hasty  ex- 
pression. I  shall  receive  your  acknowledgments 
in  return  as  an  ample  seal  of  reconciliation.  Come, 
Leslie,  let  us  think  of  this  idle  matter  no  more." 

He  extended  his  hand  with  ease  and  frankness. 
Leslie  stepped  forward,  and  exchanged  the  prof- 
fered salutation.  "  I  should  hold  myself,"  he  said, 
"  greatly  your  inferior,  Count  Clairmont,  both  in 
good  sense  and  candour,  if  I  did  not  cheerfully  im- 
prove such  an  opportunity  to  avoid  bloodshed." 
"  You  will  find,"  said  the  count,  in  a  more  confi- 


120  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

dential  voice,  "  that  I  had  already  thought  better 
of  it,  and  had  communicated  such  instructions  to 
my  friend  Captain  Forbes  as  would  probably  have 
effected  this  same  event,  and  prevented  a  deed  so 
fatal,"  in  a  still  lower  tone,  "  as  you,  Mr.  Leslie, 
intended  to  perpetrate." 

The  magnanimity  of  the  count  was  applauded 
in  the  liveliest  terms.  Flora  cast  on  him  a  look, 
in  the  opinion  of  Norman,  full  of  speechless  tender- 
ness ;  and  the  young  nobleman  appeared  to  the 
most  graceful  advantage  even  in  the  eyes  of 
Leslie  himself. 

"  He  is  too  deep  for  me,"  he  thought ;  "  or  I 
have  wronged  him  most  shamefully." 

He  remained  a  few  minutes  a  moody  spectator 
of  the  close  of  a  scene  in  which  he  had  not  borne 
the  most  becoming  part.  Withdrawing  a  last 
gaze  from  Flora's  beautiful  face,  he  accidentally 
detected  the  count  in  a  distant  part  of  the  room 
watching  him,  as  he  thought,  unobserved.  He 
was  struck  with  a  glance  of  malignant  meaning 
which,  like  the  rattle  of  the  dreadful  snake,  bade 
him  beware. 

At  length,  after  an  awkward  adieu  to  the  ladies, 
whose  salutations  in  return,  particularly  Flora's, 
he  thought  cold  and  stiff,  with  a  mountain-load 
from  his  mind,  yet  a  coal  of  fire  at  his  heart,  he 
withdrew,  and  sought  his  own  home. 

"  Strange  world  1"  he  thought :  "  brief  and  wild 
vicissitudes  !  What  a  sport — what  an  idle  chance 
— what  a  reckless,  valueless,  wanton  confusion  is 
the  destiny  of  mortals !  Yesterday  I  was  well, 
safe,  tranquil,  and  happy.  This  morning  I  was 
suddenly  transformed  into  a  beast,  bound  and 
dragged"  to  the  altar  for  sacrifice.  A  few  moments 
ago  1  prayed  to  be  released  and  set  free,  as  the 
highest  boon  Heaven  could  bestow.  Lo  !  I  am 
loose ;  the  chain  is  broken ;  the  knife  sheathed  ; 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  121 

the  fire  extinguished;  and  yet,  while  the  bright 
blade  glittered  before  my  eyes,  one  thought  made 
me  happier  in  danger  than  I  am  now  in  freedom. 
That  look  of  the  count's  too — will  he  play  me 
false? — a  malignant  devil  lurks  in  his  glances. 
As  for  Flora,"  a  tear  stood  on  his  eyelash,  he 
dashed  it  away — "  pshaw  !  boy  that  I  am !  let 
me  tear  her  sweet  image  for  ever  from  my  heart." 

At  eleven  Kreutzner  entered  by  appointment. 

"  There  are  to  be  two  more  breathing  folks  in 
the  world,  Leslie,  than  you  intended.  The  noble 
count  and  the  noble  captain  put  their  noses  to- 
gether at  your  close  terms,  and  request  another 
interview." 

"  It  will  be  useless,"  said  Norman,  and  related 
the  occurrence  of  the  morning. 

"  Now,  is  that  magnanimity,"  said  Kreutzner, 
when  he  had  done  speaking,  "  or  love  for  the  fair 
girl,  or  sheer  cowardice  ?" 

"Alas  for  poor  human  nature !"  answered  Leslie. 
"  The  world  may  well  be  topsy-turvy,  when,  even 
by  such  observers  as  you,  Kreutzner,  the  purest 
virtues  and  the  meanest  vices  cannot  be  distin- 
guished from  each  other :  but,  come,  a  truce  to 
moralizing.  I  propose  we  shall  sup  together." 

"And  the  prospect,"  said  Kreutzner,  "of  a  com- 
fortable breakfast  in  the  morning  instead  of  a  bullet 
will  not  lessen  your  appetite,  I  assure  you." 

The  two  friends  linked  arms,  and  calling  for 
Morton,  who,  with  all  his  folly,  had  the  pleasing 
faculty  of  rendering  himself  more  agreeable  Jn 
most  companies  than  he  had  managed  to  do  in 
that  of  Miss  Temple,  they  adjourned  to  one  of  the 
numerous  saloons  which  in  New-York  tolerably 
supply  the  place  of  the  Parisian  cafe. 

"  What!  made  up,"  said  Morton,  "at  Temple's ! 
fal,  dal,  diddle,  diddle,  val,  dal,  dal.  Now,  that's 
all  my  doings.  1  let  out  the  whole  affair,  though  I 

VOL.  I. L 


122  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

durst  not  stay  to  see  the  consequences.  Faith,  I 
felt  like  a  fellow  who  lights  a  train  of  gunpowder, 
and  runs,  without  stopping  to  make  observations 
upon  the  explosion." 

"  Morton  !"  said  Norman,  "  you  did  not  dare  to 
commit  such  a  piece  of  stupidity  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  did,  though.  1  had  no  notion  of  see- 
ing a  fellow  like  you,  Leslie,  shot  down  like  a  wild 
pigeon  in  my  quarrel." 

"  Then  you  are,  Morton,  I  must  say,  a  greater 
fool  than  I  took  you  for  1" 

"  Well,  now,  Leslie — now — my  dear  fellow — - 
really — that's  a  poor  return  for  saving  you  from  a 
dead  shot — a  fellow  who  can  put  a  bullet,  you 
know,  out  of  the  muzzle  of  one  pistol  into  that  of 
another  !  You  would  have  been  snuffed  out !  you 
know  you  would  !  What  chance  would  such  a 
strapping  surface  as  yours  present  against  a  power 
of  aim  that  always  touches  a  silver  sixpence? 
Remember  the  Veronese  lady  !  And  now— this 
is  my  thanks ! — Well,  I  declare — I  never — " 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  123 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  disagreeable  way  of  spending  the  Evening,  and  a  change 
from  dad  to  worse. 


'  That  man  that  hath  a  tongue,  I  say,  is  no  man, 
If  with  his  tongue  he  cannot  win  a  woman." 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 


"  THA.T  Norman  Leslie  is  a  strange  being,"  said 
Mrs.  Temple,  one  evening  as  he  left  their  circle, 
after  a  visit  of  a  half  hour,  during  which  he  had 
appeared  peculiarly  reserved. 

"He  is  dying  of  love  for  Miss  Romain,"  said 
the  count ;  "  he  is  very  eccentric,  also,  and  exceed- 
ingly flippant." 

"  Flippant !"  exclaimed  Flora,  in  unfeigned  sur- 
prise, "  Mr.  Leslie  flippant !" 

"  I  fear  he  is  much  worse,  my  love,"  said  Mrs. 
Temple;  "  he  is  deceitful  and  treacherous." 

"  Deceitful  and  treacherous  !"  echoed  Flora 
again  ;  "Mr.  Leslie /" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  Mr.  Leslie,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple; "we  cannot  judge  of  men's  characters  by 
seeing  them  in  the  drawing-room.  Mr.  Leslie  in 
company  is  very  demure;  but  I  am  credibly  in- 
formed among  men  he  is  altogether  a  different  per- 
son ;  and  it  is  among  men  that  a  man's  character  is 
most  correctly  estimated.  What  was  it,  count, 
that  story  about  him  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  count,  "  my  dear  madam,  excuse 
me.  Scandal  is  my  abhorrence,  and  I  am  not 


124  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

prepared  to  say  that  is  any  thing  but  scandal; 
indeed,  I  scarcely  believe  it  at  all.  Besides,  after 
what  took  place  between  Mr.  Leslie  and  myself 
some  weeks  since,  my  motive  for  repeating  it  might 
be  misconstrued." 

Flora  looked  up,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Respecting  Mr.  Leslie's  integrity,"  continued 
Clairmont,  with  marked  emphasis,  "I  shall  not 
therefore  speak  ;  but  of  his  flippancy  I  can  easily 
cite  an  example.  He  is  in  the  habit  of  boasting 
that  he  is  obliged  to  decline  the  affections,  nay, 
advances  is  his  word,  of  more  than  one  among  the 
fairest  of  the  New-York  ladies." 

"The  wretch  !w  cried  Mrs.  Temple.  "Flora, 
my  love,  you  will  certainly  break  that  folder." 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Temple,  that  I  have  heard 
your  name  on  his  lips  so  familiarly,  that  one  would 
deem  him  a  much  more  intimate  friend  than  I  per- 
ceive he  is,  by  his  very  different  manner  to  you 
when  in  your  presence." 

Flora  turned  a  little  pale  ;  it  was  barely  percep- 
tible, but  Clairmont's  keen  eye  detected  it. 

"  I  should  regret,"  said  she,  "  to  hear  any  thing 
serious  against  Mr.  Leslie's  reputation.  His  sister 
Julia  and  his  father  are  almost  faultless,  and  they 
are  perfectly  bound  up  in  him.  I  think  1  never 
knew  a  family  in  the  domestic  circle  so  really  and 
unostentatiously  affectionate  and  happy." 

"  He  will  certainly  marry  Miss  Remain ;  and  I 
think  she  will  tame  him,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  with 
a  cool  smile. 

"  It  is  said  that  she  has  already  more  than  once 
refused  him,"  rejoined  Clairmont. 

"  How  singular !"  exclaimed  Flora-,  but  blushed 
as  she  finished  the  sentence. 

"And  pray  why,  my  love?"  said  Mrs.  Temple, 
smiling  again ;  "  because  this  Mr.  Leslie  is  so  in- 
teresting?" 


NORMAN   LESLIE. 


125 


«  No." 

"  Because  he  is  so  gay  and  lively  ?"  interrupted 
the  count,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Miss  Remain  makes  no  secret,"  said  Flora, "  of 
her  intention  to  marry  him,  and  yet  I  have  heard 
her  boast  openly  of  having  rejected  him  !" 

"  And  do  you  think,"  said  the  count,  with  some- 
thing of  marked  meaning  in  his  manner,  "  that  a 
lover  should  never  strive  against  the  first  harsh 
sentence  ?" 

"  I  do,"  said  Flora,  gravely ;  and,  changing  the 
conversation,  she  continued — "Mamma,  did  you 
hear  of  the  accident  which — " 

But  mamma  had  disappeared,  and  Flora  found 
herself  alone  with  the  count.  She  half-started,  as 
if  with  an  impulse  to  fly;  but  recollecting  herself, 
remained  with  a  most  graceful  air  of  forced  com- 
posure, not  less  becoming  from  the  fact,  that 
through  it  any  one  might  have  detected  no  ordi- 
nary degree  of  agitation.  She  dropped  her  eyes 
upon  the  volume,  whose  damp  leaves  she  had  been 
carefully  separating  with  a  pearl  folder.  A  glow 
of  hope  and  triumph  gleamed  over  the  face  of  her 
companion  as  he  approached  ;  and,  with  the  most 
guarded  gentleness  and  delicacy,  laying  his  fingers 
upon  the  book,  slowly  lowered  it  from  her  gaze. 

"Flora!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Dear  Flora !"  He  took  her  hand.  She  at- 
tempted to  withdraw  it;  but,  alas  for  his  suit, 
neither  turned  away,  nor  blushed,  nor  trembled. 
Her  face  was  slightly  pale  ;  but  on  her  sunny 
brow  there  was  a  shadow ;  and  the  smile  which 
usually  played  about  her  beautiful  mouth  was  gone 
utterly. 

"  You  forget,  Count  Clairmont,"  she  said,  "  I 
have  already  told  you  that  this  is  language  I  will 
not  hear." 

L  2 


126  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

«  My  beloved  Flora !"  he  cried,  apparently  much 
affected,  and  dropping  on  his  knee,  "  once  more— 
once  more  let  me — " 

She  rose.  Never  had  she  seemed  so  tall. 
"  You  misjudge  me,  Count  Clairmont,"  she  said> 
"  most  strangely.  I  am  no  silly  girl,  withdrawing 
to  be  wooed,  and  speaking  to  be  contradicted. 
Your  language  is  displeasing  and  painful.  Having 
already  expressed  my  sentiments  decidedly,  I 
trusted  the  subject  was  at  rest.  I  beg  you  to  rise. 
I  will  ring  for  my  mother." 

There  was  a  firmness  in  her  voice  and  manner 
that  would  have  rung  the  death-knell  to  hope  in 
any  bosom  but  that  of  Count  Clairmont. 

"  No,  no,  angelic  girl,"  and  he  retained  her  hand, 
while  a  flush  of  emotion  crossed  his  handsome  face, 
"  you  must  not,  you  shall  not  stir,  till  I  have  again 
poured  into  your  ear  all  that  I  feel  and  suffer. 
Flora,  I  love  you !" 

"  Count  Clairmont—" 

"  I  have  loved  you  always.  From  the  first, 
your  mother  knew  and  approved  my  addresses. 
I  threw  myself  at  your  feet.  You,  enchanting 
girl,  turned  coldly,  cruelly  away.  Never  shall  I 
forget  the  anguish,  the  agony  of  that  moment.  I 
would  have  fled  the  country,  nay,  I  would  have 
buried  myself  for  ever  from  the  world,  but  your 
generous  mother  soothed  my  distress,,  checked  my 
despair,  and  gradually  re-awakened  my  hope.  It 
is  now  by  her  permission,  and  that  of  your  honour- 
able father,  that  I  enjoy  this  interview,  which  I  have 
been  so  anxious  to  procure." 

"  And  /  to  avoid,"  said  Flora. 

"  Miss  Temple,"  added  the  count,  rising,  and 
still  holding  her  hand,  "  am  I  so  unhappy  as  to 
have  offended  you  ?" 

v  Detention  by  physical  force,  sir,"  said  Flora,, 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  127 

coldly,  "is  the  least  plausible  method  either  to 
awaken  affection  or  to  preserve  esteem." 

He  released  her  hand.  She  walked  to  the  bell,, 
and  was  about  to  ring. 

"  Flora,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "  as  a  friend,  I  en- 
treat you  to  hear  me." 

She  paused,  and  he  continued : — 

"Miss  Temple,  if  I  am  so  unfortunate  as  to 
have  yet  made  no  progress  in  your  esteem,  I  can- 
not abandon  the  hope  of  being  more  favoured 
hereafter.  So  deeply  am  I  interested  in  the  suc- 
cess of  this  suit,  that  my  happiness,  my  very  rea- 
son, is  utterly  at  stake.  Your  parents  have  as- 
sured me  that  your  affections  are  disengaged ;  let 
me  add,  that  their  strongest  wishes  are  enlisted  in 
my  behalf.  My  present  almost  unlimited  fortune, 
my  immense  expectations  in  Europe,  the  advan- 
tages which  my  title  afford  me  of  showing  you  the 
most  exclusive  circles  of  foreign  society,  in  their 
most  favourable  aspect — " 

He  paused  before  a  look  so  calmly  cold  as  to 
embarrass  even  him. 

"Count  Clairmont,"  she  said,  "has  but  poorly 
improved  his  intercourse  with  our  sex,  if  he  sus- 
pects a  woman's  heart  to  be  influenced  by  such 
considerations.  I  am  not  ambitious  either  of 
wealth  or  title.  Upon  this  subject  I  have  already 
spoken  decisively :  let  me  repeat  my  sentiments 
now.  They  are  confirmed  by  reflection.  I  have 
feared  this  interview,  and  done  every  thing  in  my 
power  to  prevent  it.  Your  first  suggestions  of 
partiality  I  was  contented  simply  to  decline.  I 
meet  your  present  solicitations  with  a  firmness  not 
unmingled  with  both  surprise  and  displeasure. 
Permit  me,  sir,  to  add,  that  any  future  renewal 
will  be  received  either  as  ridicule  or  insult." 
"  Must  I  then  despair,"  said  the  count,,  deeply 


128  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

mortified,  "of  permission  to  prosecute  my  ad- 
dresses with  the  aid  of  time  ?" 

"  My  sentiments,"  rejoined  Flora,  "  nothing  on 
earth  can  alter.  I  have  never  felt,  I  never  can  feel 
for  you  the  slightest  love.  I  would  not  now  per- 
mit this  painful  interview  to  be  so  prolonged,  but 
in  order  to  satisfy  you  that  a  repetition  must  be 
utterly  impossible." 

"  One  more  prayer,"  said  he,  again  kneeling,  in 
a  voice  husky  with  emotion ;  "  I  cannot,  I  will  not 
abandon  all  hope,  till  I  know  whether  I  yield  only 
to  your  abstract  preference  for  a  single  life,  or  to 
the  happier  star  of  some  favoured  rival." 

"  Count  Clairmont  1"  said  Flora,  a  flush  of  indig- 
nation rising  to  her  cheek. 

"  Nay,  cold  and  cruel  girl — " 

Before  he  had  finished  the  sentence,  he  was 
alone. 

Stung  with  disappointment  and  rage,  he  with- 
drew and  left  the  house.  He  had  not  walked 
many  minutes  when  he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der, and  a  woman  in  a  thick  veil  stood  before  him. 
Bewildered  and  off  his  guard,  his  first  thought  was 
of  Flora ;  but  the  veil  slowly  drawn  aside  revealed 
the  large  black  eyes  of  the  young  female  who  has 
slightly  and  somewhat  mysteriously  appeared  on 
the  stage  of  our  drama  in  the  second  chapter.  She 
now  stood  confronting  him  most  haughtily.  For 
a  moment  they  regarded  each  other  in  silence,  the 
light  of  a  lamp  falling  strongly  on  their  features. 
_  "  Clairmont,"  at  length  cried  the  intruder, "  your 
time  has  expired.  I  have  yielded  to  your  request. 
I  will  yield  no  longer." 

"  Louise  I"  he  answered  ;  "  not  here — not  here'!" 

"  Yes,  here !"  echoed  she,  vehemently  ;  "  here  or 
anywhere,  wherever  you  may  be.  1  claim  my 
promise.  Your  time  has  expired." 

"  By  the  holy  mother  !  girl,  but— damnation !" 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  129 

The  last  exclamation  was  called  forth  by  the 
appearance  of  Morton,  who,  accidentally  passing 
at  the  time,  distinctly  recognised  both  individuals, 
and  paused  in  surprise  to  gaze  on  their  faces. 
Louise  drew  down  her  veil.  Clairmont  stepped 
up  sternly,  and  addressed  to  him  some  casual  but 
angry  remark.  The  young  gentleman  replied 
awkwardly,  bowing  and  shuffling  back,  and  de- 
claring that  he  was  not  aware  of  being  an  in- 
truder. 

"  See,  girl,"  said  Clairmont,  "  see  what  you  have 
done  !  Would  you  betray,  would  you  ruin  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  ;  "  if  it  brought  your  head  to 
the  block — your  neck  to  the  gibbet — your  flesh  to 
the  worms  !  I  would  betray — I  would  ruin  you — 
unless — " 

A  livid  paleness  overspread  his  features,  which 
were  transformed  by  the  convulsions  of  hideous 
passion.  He  spoke  in  an  under  voice  and  close  to 
her  ear, — 

"  Silence,  woman — if  you  would  live — silence !" 

"  Live !"  echoed  she,  scornfully ;  "  hark  in  your 
ear."  She  whispered.  He  started,  and  stamped 
his  foot. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  it  is  impossible  yet.  But 
this  is  no  place.  Meet  me  at  the  hotel  again.  But 
stay  ;  not  in  this  dress." 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  the  female ;  "  I  will. 
But—" 

She  bent  her  keen  bright  eyes  full  on  his,  with  a 
power  which  almost  made  him  quail. 

"If  you  deceive — " 

"  No,  no,  no,  no,"  returned  he,  "  I  will  not — I 
will  not.  To-morrow — to-morrow !" 

The  voice  of  a  passing  pedestrian,  chanting  a 
barcarole  of  the  reigning  opera,  announced  some 
new  intruder.  The  speakers  broke  off,  and  sepa- 
rated abruptly. 


NORMAN    LESLIE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  Chapter  mostly  of  digressions,  which  the  Reader  is  en- 
treated to  excuse,  as  the  Author  could  not  help  it.  Yet 
should  it  not  be  altogether  skipped. 


1  Quench,  Corydon,  thy  long  unanswered  fire  ! 
Mind  what  the  common  wants  of  life  require  : 
On  willow  twigs  employ  thy  weaving  care ; 
And  find  an  easier  love,  though  not  so  fair." 

DRYDEN'S  Virgil. 


BEAUTIFUL  Spring  !  We  do  love  to  watch  thy 
coming.  Only  the  other  day  we  were  dilating 
upon  the  cold  ;  now,  away  with  the  appendages  of 
the  frowning  old  Winter  !  Our  habits  are  gradually 
undergoing  a  change.  The  fire  sinks  in  the  grate, 
and  burns  dimly  and  unnoticed  ;  the  heavy  cloak 
hangs  unregarded  in  the  hall ;  people  come  in 
from  the  open  air  with  noses  of  a  natural  colour; 
the  earth  is  brightening  everywhere;  and  our  very 
soul  melts  on  discovering  a  dash  of  tender  new 
grass  on  the  sunny  side  of  some  old  wall.  A 
hundred — a  thousand  sunny  reminiscences  rise  up 
warmly  in  our  tired,  chilled  heart;  we  enjoy  all  a 
school- boy's  simple  delight  at  thy  first  footstep. 
Dear  Spring !  thou  art  a  companion  endeared  to 
us  by  innumerable  tender  and  unworldly  recollec- 
tions. 

The  season  now,  over  the  country,  began  to 
exhibit  itself  in  a  thousand  agreeable  forms.  A 
shade  of  lovely  verdure  enlivened  the  fields  ;  the 
buds  were  breaking  beautifully  out  from  the  juicy 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  131 

branches :  in  the  gardens,  the  simple  snowdrop, 
the  crocus,  sprinkling  the  brown  earth  with  many 
colours,  the  yellow  daffodil,  the  fragrant  meze- 
reon,  with  its  flower  before  the  leaf,  already  ap- 
peared— graceful  harbingers  of  the  most  welcome 
of  seasons  ;  and  soon  to  be  followed  by  the  modest 
violet,  the  lowly  heart's  ease,  the  golden  Adonis, 
the  crimson  pa3ony,  hyacinths,  tulips,  and  all  the 
beautiful  and  variegated  children  of  nature. 

Jn  the  barnyard  now  the  cattle  rested  them- 
selves with  ardent  gratification.  The  contented 
hen  dug  a  hole  in  the  gravel,  and  laid,  in  enviable 
and  luxurious  idleness,  in  the  general  sunshine; 
and  the  cock  swaggered  and  strutted  about  in 
his  fine  regimentals  with  superadded  dignity,  his 
great  soul  shining  through  every  look  and  action, 
lifting  his  feet  as  if  the  very  earth  were  not  good 
enough  for  him  to  tread  on,  and  ever  and  anon 
slapping  his  martial  sides  triumphantly  with  his 
wings,  and  challenging  all  the  world  with  high- 
sounding  exclamation.  Ah,  happy  fellow  !  he  is 
your  only  philosopher.  He  enjoys  life  truly.  He 
has  no  books  to  balance;  no  notes  to  pay;  no 
duns  to  meet;  no  bills  in  chancery  to  draw;  no 
romances  to  write  ;  no  proofs  to  read  :  nothing 
but  to  rove  about  all  day,  withersoever  he  pleaseth ; 
free  from  trouble,  debts,  labour,  fear,  dyspepsia, 
laws,  bonds,  house-rent,  and  all  the  fiends  engen- 
dered to  haunt  the  citizen  of  a  civilized  community. 
Happy  fellow  !  even  now  we  hear  thy  voice — the 
outbreakings  of  a  great,  independent,  happy  heart. 
Peace  be  with  thee  !  gay  sultan,  amid  thy  seraglio 
of  dames.  Elegant  courtier  !  Proud  herald  of  the 
morn ! 

In  the  city,  the  evidences  of  the  season  were 
numerous,  although  of  a  different  description. 
The  shopkeepers  flung  open  their  doors,  and  dis- 
played their  goods  in  the  air.  The  windows  of 


132  NORMAN  LESLIE. 

the  wealthy  were  also  unclosed,  and  the  breathing 
and  blossoming  plants  placed  in  the  sun.  Dirty- 
faced  chubby  children,  ragged,  barefoot,  and  hat- 
less;  came  forth  in  troops  by  the  cellar-doors,  and 
in  all  the  sunshiny  places :  and  the  poor  generally 
wore  cheerful  countenances;  for  they  were  already 
enjoying  existence  more  with  less  expense.  But 
of  ail  the  places  where  these  revolutionary  pro- 
ceedings in  the  weather  were  perceptible,  the  west 
side  of  Broadway,  perhaps,  exhibited  the  most 
changes  in  the  dresses  of  the  promenaders,  mascu- 
line and  feminine,  black  and  white.  It  seemed  that 
no  experience  could  enlighten  certain  classes  upon 
the  fickleness  of  Spring ;  and  every  accidental 
gleam  of  warm  weather  was  sure  to  elicit  divers 
pieces  of  apparel,  more  peculiarly  appropriate  to 
the  heat  of  summer.  The  cumbersome  cloak  was 
left  behind.  Then  the  thin  shoe  appeared  in  place 
of  the  boot.  In  a  little  while  a  parasol  went  gayly 
along  through  the  sunshine  ;  and,  by-and-by,  straw 
hats  and  white  pantaloons  prematurely  displayed 
themselves  upon  odd-looking  persons.  We  are 
apt  to  regard  with  some  curiosity,  if  not  suspicion, 
your  fellow  who  puts  on  thin  pantaloons  so  early 
in  the  season,  hoping  thereby  to  force  on  the  sum- 
mer. He  is  like  the  first  swallow.  His  reasoning 
powers  cannot  be  much  cultivated ;  or  else  he  is 
only  striving  after  notoriety ;  or,  perhaps,  he  may 
have  a  better  reason,  viz.  his  thin  pantaloons  may 
be  thicker  than  his  thick  ones  !  Whatever  may  be 
the  origin  of  so  extraordinary  a  proceeding,  we 
humbly  warn  our  readers  against  being  led  too 
easily  away  by  the  alluring  promises,  and  tender 
but  deceitful  solicitations  of  Spring.  Let  not 
the  expanding  buds,  the  new  grass,  the  peeping 
flowerets  ;  the  broad,  still,  universal  sunshine  ;  the 
fresh,  fragrant,  and  bland  zephyr,  delude  you  into 
any  of  these  fashionable  eccentricities  in  apparel. 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  133 

Believe  not  the  appearance  of  the  earth ;  trust  not 
Ihe  seducing  smiles  of  heaven.  The  whole  season 
resembles  a  lively  coquette,  full  of  smiles,  airs,  and 
affections ;  and  much  more  ready  to  make  prom- 
ises than  to  keep  them.  We  have  now  in  our 
memory  an  unhappy  wretch,  whom  we  once  met 
in  the  course  of  an  afternoon  peregrination.  He 
was  hastening  homeward,  shivering  in  a  pair  of 
white  trousers,  pumps,  and  thin  silk  stockings ; 
his  nose  turned  blue  ;  and  his  coat  buttoned,  des- 
perately, every  button,  to  the  very  throat.  Do  not, 
we  entreat,  be  too  rash  in  taking  down  stoves,  and 
abandoning  thick  stockings.  Remember  the  words 
of  the  friar  in  Romeo  and  Juliet — "  Wisely  and 
slow;  they  stumble  that  run  fast." 

Yes,  the  spring  was  here ;  and  the  gay  world  of 
fashion  was  as  busy  as  the  blossoms  on  the  trees, 
or  the  birds  in  the  groves..  Flora  Temple  con- 
tinued to  bloom  with  the  modest  sweetness  of  a 
wild  rose.  Her  striking  beauty,  which  each  day 
seemed  to  unfold  some  lovelier  charm ;  her  ac- 
complished education  ;  her  clear,  bright  mind,  and 
gentle  nature — to  say  nothing  of  her  immense  for- 
tune, and  yet  more  immense  expectations — ren- 
dered her  an  object  of  universal  attraction,  and 
enchained  the  particular  attentions  of  a  host  of 
gentlemen,  who,  from  various  considerations,  wrote 
themselves  her  admirers.  The  world,  always 
peculiarly  shrewd  upon  these  matters,  exhausted 
its  curiosity  and  its  conjectures  upon  the  subject 
of  her  union ;  and  gave  her  away,  unceremoni- 
ously, to  many  a  claimant,  who,  however  charmed 
with  the  honour,  knew  too  well  at  heart  that  it 
could  be  enjoyed  but  in  imagination.  Poor  Mor- 
ton, after  his  first  storm  of  disappointment  and 
wounded  vanity,  had  swallowed  his  regrets  with 
a  resignation  which  springs  sometimes  from  phi- 
losophy, and  sometimes  from  folly;  and,  if  rumour 


134  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

spoke  truth  (which,  by-the-way,  that  slandered 
divinity  often  does),  he  had  no  reason  to  be 
ashamed  of  the  names  associated  with  his  own 
on  the  long  list  of  rejected  suitors.  Lieutenant 
Halford  of  the  navy,  after  beating  about  for  some 
time  against  baffling  breezes,  bore  down  gallantly 
towards  the  prize,  but  suddenly  veered  upon  a 
new  tack,  and  shortly  after  struck  his  colours  be- 
neath a  heavy  fire  from  the  eyes— oh  woman  ? 
woman  !  —  of  Miss  Maria  Morton.  Captain 
Forbes  of  the  army  besieged  the  fortress;  but 
upon  a  short  parley  from  the  walls,  he  turned  at 
once  to  the  right-about,  and  obliqued  off  to  the 
left,  double-quick  step,  upon  some  more  feasible 
expedition.  An  eloquent  young  lawyer,  who  had 
been  a  good  deal  in  the  papers,  and  was  supposed 
to  possess  a  weighty  influence  in  the  first  ward, 
rose  to  advance  a  motion,  which  the  public,  like  a 
court  of  inferior  jurisdiction,  immediately  decided 
in  his  favour :  but  love  and  law  have  both  their 
uncertainties ;  for,  upon  an  appeal  to  the  highest 
tribunal,  the  opinion  was  reversed.  A  club  of 
literati — a  street  of  young  merchants — a  board  of 
brokers — and  a  whole  medical  college  were  re- 
ported to  have  suffered  a  veto  in  regular  suc- 
cession ;  while  penniless  poets,  promising  editors, 
law-students,  and  young  men  of  talent  were  de- 
clined ad  infinitum  with  sweet  condescension, 
gracious  regret,  and  a  world  of  kind  wishes  for 
their  future  welfare,  and  that  their  subsequent 
paths  might  be  "  strewn  with  flowers !"  It  was 
asserted  by  Howard,  that  Miss  Temple  was 
obliged  to  keep  a  confidential  clerk  ;  and  that  the 
dismissals  were  issued  in  the  form  of  printed 
blanks,  filled  up,  according  to  circumstances,  with 
name  and  date,  without  any  further  trouble  or 
knowledge  of  the  young  lady  herself  than  a  care- 
less weekly  perusal  of  the  list  of  suitors'  names, 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  135 

alphabetically  arranged.  But  Morton  declared 
this  to  be  a  bouncer ;  as  his  own  had  been  care- 
fully written  in  her  own  hand,  on  rose  paper, 
sealed  with  a  cameo  cupid,  and  composed,  evi- 
dently, at  the  express  command  of  her  mother, 
who  was  mad  after  that  d d  French  count. 


"Why  don't  she  marry?"  said  the  world.  "  Time 
flies ;  and  she  must  be  eighteen  at  least." 

"  Why  don't  she  marry  ?"  said  Mrs.  Hamilton, 
one  morning,  to  her  husband. 

"  Because  she  is  not  afoot,  my  dear,"  growled 
the  happy  husband.  "She  is  young,  rich,  free, 
and  admired.  Why  should  she  marry?  Like 
others  I  could  mention,  she  better  becomes  the 
station  of  a  belle  than  of  a  wife.  Women  nowa- 
days are  only  made  to  look  at." 

"  And  men  to  fret  and  scold,"  said  Mrs.  Hamil- 
ton, with  a  scowl. 

"  Come,  come,  my  love,"  rejoined  the  husband, 
"  no  pouting.  What's  done,  you  know,  my  angel, 
can't  be  undone." 

"  Mr.  Hamilton,  you  are  a — " 

"  A  what,  my  dear  ?" 

The  lady  was  silent.  The  husband  thrust  his 
hands  into  his  pantaloons  pocket,  kicked  his  robe 
de  chambre  from  the  middle  of  the  floor  into  a 
corner  (this  dialogue  matrimonial  is  presumed  to 
have  taken  place  in  what  the  French  call  the 
chambre  d  coucher),  muttered  an  oath,  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  made  his  exit,  whistling  "  The 
Campbells  are  coming." 

"  There  he  goes,"  said  Mrs.  Hamilton  to  herself, 
as  the  front-door  slammed  heavily  after  her  re- 
treating lord,  and  his  choleric  step  died  away  on 
the  pavement — "there  he  goes,  and  it  will  be  mid- 
night, now,  ere  I  see  him  again.  Who  could  have 
believed  it  before  we  married  I  Then — 


136  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

"  Miss  Temple,  too,"  murmured  the  neglected 
wife,  as  she  continued  her  revery,  sighing  the 
while,  and  glancing  her  eyes  upon  the  still  lovely 
image,  presented  by  a  large  mirror.  "Happy 
girl !"  (she  rang  the  bell)  "  she  will  win  the  count 
yet"  (another  sigh).  "  Well — as  Hamilton  says — 
what's  done — " 

The  maid  entered,  and  the  complicated  ma- 
chinery of  a  small  family  went  on  with  its  opera- 
tions. 

To  say  that  Norman  Leslie  had  not  visited  at 
Mrs.  Temple's,  after  the  occurrences  related  in  the 
foregoing  chapters,  would  not  be  to  say  the  truth  ; 
nor,  indeed,  that  he  never  visited  at  Mr.  Romain's. 
On  the  contrary,  he  had  occasionally  beguiled  an 
evening  with  each  family;  and  at  both — a  young 
and  refined  man,  with  a  leaning  to  poetry,  with- 
out a  wife,  and  with  an  intuitive  delicacy  which 
preserved  him  from  the  grosser  pleasures  of  a 
mighty  city — he  found  much  to  attract  and  gratify 
him.  There  were  music,  charming  society,  and 
the  gayest  spirits ;  in  which,  when  the  mood  was 
on  him,  he  was  fully  competent  to  share,  and  even 
to  enliven.  He  had  observed,  during  his  infre- 
quent visits  to  Miss  Remain,  that  her  character 
had  undergone  a  change,  which  sometimes  induced 
the  opinion  that  he  had  wronged  her ;  and  there 
was  in  his  bosom  ever  a  generous  yearning  to  ex- 
cuse and  to  acquit.  The  once  lively  girl  had  now 
become  more  staid  and  grave,  sometimes  even  un- 
happy. Norman  could  not  be  ignorant  that  he  had 
once  excited  the  love  of  a  bosom  which,  however 
light  and  inconstant,  was  full  of  womanly  feelings. 
In  the  fervour  of  boyhood,  her  brilliant  charms  and 
accomplishments  had  certainly  impressed  him  with 
a  too  warm  sense  of  her  loveliness ;  but  then,  his 
loftily  sentimental  character  might  have  started 
aside  too  suddenly,  and  mistaken  the  really  care- 


GORMAN  LESLIE.  137 

less  folly  and  unguarded  thoughtlessness  of  a  giddy 
girl  for  inherent  affectation  and  heartlessness.  He 
was  no  fop;  but  we  shall  not  undertake  to  say 
whether  he  could  entirely  exclude  from  his  mind 
a  vague  surmise,  which,  however  forcibly  dis- 
missed, returned  again  and  again,  that  this  perma- 
nent sadness,  the  pensive  reserve  of  manner,  might 
result  from  a  half-revived  affection  for  him.  Love 
her  he  could  not ;  but  youths  of  his  caliber  can 
stretch  their  hearts  to  a  wonderful  complacency  in 
regarding  the  favour  of  a  sweet  girl,  even  when 
that  favour  finds  affections  already  flown.  Her 
manner  towards  him  had  been  soft  and  alluring, 
particularly  so  in  the  company  of  other  ladies,  and 
most  particularly  in  that  of  Miss  Temple,  who  was 
struck  at  the  undisguised  partiality  which  she 
often  exhibited  for  him.  Whether  this  was  really 
re-awakened  passion,  or  incorrigible  coquetry,  or 
a  desire  to  reclaim  a  half-freed  captive,  and  dis- 
play him  before  the  world  a  double  conquest — or 
whether  the  keen  eye  of  a  heartless  flirt  had  de- 
tected in  the  mind  of  her  late  lover  deeper  thoughts 
than  he  chose  to  acknowledge  of  Flora  Temple, 
whom  she  envied,  and  whose  envy  she  triumphed 
in  the  thought  of  exciting — must  yet  be  left  to  con- 
jecture. She  continued  by  turns  sad  and  gay, 
sentimental,  fond,  and  peevish,  playing  off  the  airs 
of  a  capricious,  spoiled,  and  impassioned  woman  ; 
while  Flora  moved  calmly  in  her  orbit,  as  the  moon 
mounts  steadily  up  the  heavens,  veiled  sometimes 
in  a  silver  cloud,  from  which  even  the  shadow  is 
beautiful ;  or  pouring  her  soft  light  from  an  azure 
sky,  whose  utmost  clearness  is  not  freed  from  a 
touch  of  melancholy.  Norman  Leslie  and  she  ap- 
peared farther  separated  in  destiny  than  ever ; 
yet  he  still  secretly  nourished  for  her  an  absorbing 
and  increasing  passion,  which  he  sometimes  half- 
imagined,  for  such  dreams  come  soon,  was  not 

M2 


138  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

unrequited:  yet,  while  he  more  frequently  and 
familiarly  visited  the  dwelling  of  Mr.  Remain,  he 
called  on  the  Temples  but  rarely ;  and  always 
during  his  stay  was  uninteresting,  cold,  or  em- 
barrassed. He  generally  met  the  count  there, 
which  by  no  means  diminished  his  disquietude, 
particularly  as  it  seemed  to  be  understood  that 
he  was  certainly  and  speedily  to  marry  Flora 
Temple. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

An  Insight  into  the  Character  of  an  old  but  slight  Acquaint- 
ance— A  tender  Revery  interrupted. 

"  Than  whom  a  better  senator  ne'er  held 
The  helm  of  Rome,  when  gowns,  not  arms,  repell'd 
The  fierce  Epirot  and  the  African  bold  ; 
Whether  to  settle  peace,  or  to  unfold 
The  drift  of  hollow  States,  hard  to  be  spell'd." 

Milton  to  Sir  Henry  Fane  the  Younger. 

MR.  MORDAUNT  LESLIE  sat  alone  invhis  study. 
Hitherto  Norman,  instead  of  his  father,  lias  occu- 
pied our  reader ;  let  me  now  call  his  attention  to 
the  latter.  Perhaps  the  United  States  held  no 
character  more  striking  and  remarkable,  more  pe- 
culiarly the  growth  of  a  mighty  and  stern  republic, 
where  talent  and  eloquence  make  themselves  felt. 
Early  in  life  he  had  entered  the  field  of  politics. 
Being  the  son  of  a  man  who  had  figured  brilliantly 
in  the  Revolution,  in  the  companionship  of  Wash- 
ington, Kosciusko,  Hamilton,  and  Lafayette ;  and 
belonging  to  one  of  the  old,  wealthy,  and  influen- 
tial (for  they  could  not  be  called  aristocratic)  fam- 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  139 

ilies  of  the  country,  he  commenced  his  career  with 
numerous  and  powerful  advantages.  Long  and 
deeply  had  he  struggled  in  the  mighty  game,  and 
always  had  he  been  the  winner.  Stronger  and 
stronger  grew  his  sway — louder  and  louder  his 
voice  was  heard  ;  and  more  and  more  reverently 
it  was  listened  to  in  every  exciting  emergency.  At 
the  time  of  our  story  he  stood  among  the  highest  of 
American  statesmen:  profound'and  grave,  learned, 
eloquent,  and  persevering,  he  had  risen  through  the 
intermediate  grades  between  the  obscurity  of  a  pri- 
vate citizen  and  his  present  rank  in  the  Senate  of 
the  United  States.  From  that  commanding  sum- 
mit, his  dignified  but  never  sleeping  ambition  formed 
new  plans,  beheld  higher,  nobler  eminences;  few  had 
climbed  so  loftily  with  a  character  so  unsullied :  a 
foreign  ministry  to  Paris  or  London  was  talked  of 
by  his  friends.  In  the  secret  conclave  of  his  confi- 
dential circle,  an  ascent  yet  more  audacious  had 
fixed  their  eyes  ;  nor  did  their  aspiring  hopes  pause 
lower  than  the  highest  seat  in  the  republic.  Many 
candidates  had  striven  openly  for  the  presidential 
chair  with  fewer  claims,  and  more  slender  hopes, 
than  might  be  advanced  and  cherished  by  Mor- 
daunt  Leslie. 

Late  on  the  night  to  which  we  allude,  business 
of  paramount  importance  having  called  him,  for  a 
few  days,  from  his  duties  at  Washington  to  New- 
York,  he  sat  in  his  library,  earnestly  engaged  in 
studying  a  subject  of  deep  interest  about  to  come 
under  the  consideration  of  the  Senate.  A  rival 
statesman,  from  the  South,  had  attempted  the  pas- 
sage of  a  bill  which  Mr.  Leslie  deemed,  not  only 
striking  at  the  foundation  of  the  interests  of  the  re- 
public, but  at  the  same  time  calculated  to  shake, 
and  perhaps  tumble  to  the  dust,  the  whole  fabric  of 
his  own  private  views,  which  he  had  been  so  long 
and  so  successfully  building  up.  Should  this  bill 


140  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

succeed,  it  would  produce  the  most  material  and 
the  most  unpleasant  influences  upon  his  life  and 
happiness.  It  was,  indeed,  one  of  those  questions 
wherein  the  whole  strength  of  two  mighty  parties 
come  to  be  thrown,  for  the  moment,  into  the  hands 
of  two  individuals,  as  ancient  armies  occasionally 
confided  their  quarrel  to  the  puissance  of  two  sin- 
gle combatants.  Thousands  anxiously  waited  the 
result ;  and  the  exciting  sensation  produced  through 
the  country  had  already  crowded  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington with  strangers,  eager  far  the  coming  on  of 
the  conflict. 

On  the  succeeding  day  Mr.  Leslie,  with  his  son 
and  daughter,  were  to  set  out  for  the  capital ;  and 
it  was  understood  that  a  large  party  from  New- 
York  intended  also  to  be  present,  to  hear  the  elo- 
quence, and  probably  witness  the  triumph,  of  their 
celebrated  representative.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple 
were  enthusiastically  enlisted  in  the  interests  of  the 
party  opposed  to  Mr.  Leslie ;  they  had  also  pre- 
pared to  proceed  to  Washington,  and  were  to  start 
early  on  the  morrow. 

As  the  statesman  sat  in  the  silent  seclusion  of  his 
study,  while  his  son  was  wandering  alone,  indulging 
blissful  visions  of  Flora  Temple,  he  was  merged  in 
dreams  of  stern  and  grasping  ambition  ;  not  the  am- 
bition of  Caesar,  Napoleon,  or  Cromwell,  but  that  of 
Brutus  and  of  Washington.  At  least,  this  was  the 
exalted  sentiment  with  which  he  had  stepped  upon 
the  arena;  this  was  the  motive  which  he  had  set 
up  before  his  own  heart ;  but,  as  he  grew  nearer 
and  yet  more  near  to  the  issue  of  the  game,  as  the 
bright  reward  of  his  daring  mind  shone  almost 
within  his  reach,  who  can  say  what  changes  went 
on  in  his  character  ?  Who  can  note  the  degree  in 
which,  while  his  hopes  strengthened,  his  ambition 
also  deepened  ?  >As  he  now  bent  over  masses  of 
heavy  documents ;  as  he  sought  a  passage  in  a 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  141 

ponderous  tome  ;  now  elucidating  a  point  of  his- 
tory; now  illustrating  a  question  of  law;  now 
noting  down  a  classical  quotation ;  now  pausing  to 
examine,  enlarge,  imbody  in  words,  and  commit  to 
memory  a  new  and  more  fiery  thought ;  now  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves  of  Shakspeare  for  some  won- 
drous phrase,  with  which  to  link  and  send  down  the 
tide  of  popular  feeling  a  modern  opinion  ; — as  he 
pondered  over  all  the  various  arts  by  which  a  great 
orator  steeps  and  imbues  himself  with  his  theme, 
hour  after  hour  of  the  silent  night  rolled  unhged- 
edly  away. 

Few  men  find  their  hearts  trembling  with  a  more 
eager  anxiety  upon  the  result  of  an  event  or  an  ac- 
tion, than  that  of  the  soaring  statesman  as  he  looked 
forward  to  this  struggle  on  the  floor  of  Congress. 
The  lover,  waiting  the  word  from  the  lips  of  his 
mistress  ;  the  mother,  watching  the  leech  as  he 
feels  the  pulse  of  her  dying  child;  the  gambler,  his 
all  pledged,  pausing  ere  he  uncovers  the  dice ;  the 
culprit,  bending  to  hear  the  verdict  on  his  life — per- 
haps none  of  these  are  stirred  with  thoughts  much 
more  deep  and  absorbing  than  those  which  rolled 
through  the  mind  of  the  ambitious,  the  haughty,  the 
eloquent,  and  the  indignant  senator.  He  felt  in  this 
crisis  like  Leonidas  at  ThermopylaB;  he  stood 
within  the  narrow  gorge  which  he  was  to  defend 
with  his  own  arm,  and  fearful  he  saw  were  the 
odds  against  him.  He  was  eloquent,  and  he  knew 
it.  His  heart  swelled  with  the  grandeur  of  con- 
scious power;  he  longed,  he  yearned  for  the 
moment  of  action.  He  sat  like  Jove  above  the 
Titans,  aware  of  the  forces  against  him,  but  still 
knowing  himself  to  be  Jove,  still  grasping  the 
thunder ;  and,  though  they  might  pile  up  moun- 
tains on  mountains,  still  calmly  and  majestically 
awaiting  the  time  to  launch  the  immortal  bolt. 

He  had  closed  a  volume  of  Montesquieu,  after 


142  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

some  hours  of  severe  application ;  and  as  he  laid 
down  his  pencil,  and  put  aside  the  volume,  he 
breathed  as  one  whose  attention  relaxes  from  a 
long  and  fatiguing  task  ;  and  a  smile  slowly,  and 
just  perceptibly,  softened  and  lighted  his  majestic 
face.  The  effect  of  the  light,  throwing  its  subdued 
stream  upon  his  noble  features,  formed  a  superb 
subject  for  the  pencil.  It  had  the  warm  splendour 
and  the  high  character  of  a  Titian.  The  imposing 
person  which  we  have  admired  in  Norman  ap- 
peared even  more  dignified  in  the  father :  he  was 
taller,  and  his  demeanour  more  uniformly  and 
calmly  commanding ;  his  manners  were  remark- 
able for  a  bland  and  smooth  courtliness.  Inter- 
course with  the  world  had  imparted  to  his  address 
high-tempered  polish  and  elegance,  which  fitted  him 
admirably  for  the  diplomatic  station  to  which  it 
was  said  the  country  would  soon  call  him.  By 
Norman  that  fascinating  ease  and  self-possession 
were  not  yet  fully  possessed ;  they  flashed  through 
him  only  at  intervals.  At  one  hour  they  would  hal- 
low his  society  so,  that  woman  yielded  to  the  delu- 
sive and  dangerous  influence ;  and  at  the  next,  it 
would  pass  away  as  if  the  flame  had  been  with- 
drawn from  the  vase  ;  and  others  would  wonder 
what  people  could  find  in  him  to  admire.  Mr. 
Mordaunt  Leslie  would  have  been  instantly  re- 
ceived with  delight  at  the  most  fastidious  and  pol- 
ished court  of  Europe  ;  but  his  son  would  have  re- 
mained a  time  in  the  shadow,  and  been  compelled 
to  rise  by  degrees,  unless  some  sudden  crisis 
brought  his  talent  into  notice.  Both  were  of  the 
same  rich  material :  the  former  was  perfected  from 
the  hands  of  the  artist ;  the  latter,  yet  partly  un- 
wrought. 

In  Mr.  Leslie  only  one  passion  coped  with  his 
ambition :  it  was  paternal  love.  He  had  married, 
at  the  early  age  of  twenty,  a  woman  whose  rare 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  143 

charms  and  excellences  neither  poet  nor  painter 
can  too  highly  depict.  She  was  the  only  one  he 
ever  had  loved.  Mutually  endeared  by  the  recip- 
rocal influences  of  genius  and  romance,  by  remark- 
able beauty  of  person  and  gentleness  of  charac- 
ter, they  had  dwelt  together  contentedly — happy ; 
nay,  blessed  beyond  common  mortals.  While 
she  lived  his  life  had  been  a  sunshiny  romance — a 
fairy  dream — nothing  but  sunshine,  poetry,  and 
love.  But  a  rapid  malady — which,  even  while  it 
cut  off  her  life,  had  beautified  and  etherealized  both 
her  mind  and  person — deprived  him  of  this  beloved 
being.  From  the  whole  ardour  and  very  romance 
of  love,  his  mind  had  rolled  gradually  into  a  new 
channel.  Never,  subsequently,  had  women  been  to 
him  more  than  sisters  :  all  the  tenderness  of  his  na- 
ture had  centred  upon  Julia  and  Norman  ;  in  the 
former  he  found  a  fair  copy  of  his  wife — in  the  lat- 
ter, of  himself.  For  a  year  after  his  bereavement, 
in  the  loneliest  hours  of  the  night,  he  had  visited  the 
turf  beneath  which,  cold  to  his  anguish  and  his 
love,  slept  the  bosom  of  the  beautiful  and  vanished 
object  of  ,his  early  worship.  And  then  the  lover, 
the  quiet,  shrinking,  world-despising  lover — the 
haunter  of  brooks,  the  feeder  of  birds;  the  modest, 
unpresuming  youth,  who  had  murmured  the  very 
breath  of  poetry  to  the  ear  of  beauty ;  who  had 
pored  over  the  hues  of  a  flower,  or  the  shape  of  a 
cloud  ;  who  had  sought  to  master  the  art  of  music, 
that  he  might,  in  a  new  language,  tell  to  her  how  he 
loved  her  footmarks,  and  how  he  was  enraptured 
beneath  her  gaze ;  he,  to  whom  mankind  had  been 
but  the  actors  in  a  gory  tragedy  or  a  grotesque 
farce,  from  both  of  which  he  turned,  in  the  fulness 
of  his  bliss,  still  to  linger  and  murmur  his  passion 
to  one  modest  rose  in  the  wild  wood  ; — he  reap- 
peared among  his  fellow-creatures  the  resolute 
votary  of  ambition — forgetting  music,  woman,  na- 


144  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

ture — the  midnight  student,  the  severe  satirist, 
the  haranguer  of  mobs,  the  candidate  for  office, 
the  foremost  in  the  jar,  dust,  tumult,  and  sinewy 
struggle  of  brawling  and  smoky  cities.  Thus  are 
men's  characters  formed.  What  now  was  the  wife 
of  his  boyhood  ? — a  flower  he  had  watched  years 
ago,  as  it  faded^by  the  road-side — a  laughing  brook, 
whose  channel  was  dusty — a  lyre,  whose  strings 
were  broken — a  sylvan  dell,  once  fringed  with  foli- 
age and  scented  with  sweet  roses,  but  whose 
green  and  silent  depths,  where  his  boyish  foot  had 
trod  when  the  world  was  all  new,  he*  could  never 
— never  visit  again.  He  had  ceased  to  be  a  lover ; 
he  had  ceased  to  be  a  husband.  He  was  now  only 
the  father  and  the  statesman. 

As  he  saw  at  length  the  close  of  his  studies  for 
the  night,  he  closed  the  volume  ;  and  the  smile 
which  stole  across  his  features  announced  the  pleas- 
ure of  anticipated  triumph. 

He  rose,  lighted  a  fragrant  cigar,  and  sat  down 
again,  rather  to  muse  than  to  study ;  for  he  had 
arrived  at  that  age  when  but  little  sleep  is  requisite, 
and  he  who  would  gain  and  preserve  ascendency 
over  his  fellow-men  must  learn  to  waste  but  few 
hours  in  slumber. 

Thus  ran  the  midnight  musings  of  the  states- 
man:— 

"  Oh  that  this  battle  were  fought  and  won !  Oh 
that  it  were  !  But  it  will  be — it  shall!  Cunning 
and  ambitious  as  he  is,  I  will  meet  him  front  to 
front,  breast  to  breast.  He  shall  find  me  no  recoil- 
ing boy.  I  will  make  him  feel  and  fear  me.  Let 
it  come.  Perhaps  best  it  should  :  I  will  attack 
him  in  his  fortress ;  I  will  scale  his  impregnable 
walls.  Why,  what  but  personal  ambition  can  lead 
him  to  such  audacious  designs  ?  And  yet,  he  has 
no  young  eagle,  as  I  have,  ready  to  launch  upon 


NORMAN   LESLIE.         ,  145 

the  tempest ;  if  he  had,  I  could  fancy  the  ground  of 
his  ambition." 

He  paused ;  and  then  continued — 

"  That  boy  is  already  a  man.  I  mark  his  mind 
mature.  I  mark  his  energies  unfold — his  person 
develop — his  character  broaden  and  deepen.  All 
that  I  have  been,  he  shall  be — and  more,  much 
more.  He  shall  commence  when  I  rest.  But  he 
must  travel — and  study.  Of  late  he  has  idled  his 
hours  in  indolent  city  pleasures : — Right — he  is  of 
the  true  metal.  He  will  sicken  of  them  as  I  did. 
Let  him  see  what  a  heartless  thing  it  is.  Already 
his  better,  his  higher,  his  hereditary  nature  breaks 
forth.  He  reads  much.  He  mopes.  He  thinks. 
Perhaps  it  is  love — well,  be  it  so !  If  he  escape 
that  enchanted  island — if  some  Calypso  do  not  per- 
suade him  to  linger  for  ever  in  her  perennial  bowers 
— then  will  he  mount  on  the  wind,  and  gaze  on  the 
very  sun  unblinded,  as  i  do, 

"  My  sweet  Julia,  too — was  ever  man  so  blessed 
in  son  and  daughter  ?  who  might  not  be  proud  to 
ask  her  hand  ?  That  young  Howard  is  well  enough, 
too — fire  and  genius  in  him — rich, bold,  eloquent: 
and  then  she  loves  him  ;  I  see  it  in  all  her  looks, 
words,  and  actions.  Yes — happy,  happy  beings! — 
they  love  each  other.  Blessings  on  them  !  bless- 
ings on  them  !  I  would  not  shadow  one  ray  of 
their  bright  hearts — no,  not  even  for  ambition. 

"  My  old  friend  Judge  Howard,  too,  is  no  mean 
ally ;  a  proud,  firm  old  man.  Yes,  yes,  I  am 
happy — too,  too  happy,  considering  that  she  is 
not  of  our  circle.  Beloved,  beautiful,  sanctified 
Julia,  art  thou  a  spirit  ? — dost  thou  lean  from  the 
wind  to  gaze  on,  and  bless  us,  dearest,  most 
adored  ?  Dost  thou  watch  the  heart  which  has 
been  none  but  thine  ?  Dost  thou  still  behold,  still 
know,  still  love  me,  sweet,  sweet  spirit  of  my 


146  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

gone  days  ?  Speak,  speak — give  me  some  sign, 
some  token — " 

A  shriek  of  such  intense  and  piercing  horror 
broke  in  upon  his  meditations,  that  the  dreamer, 
already  half-lost  in  unearthly  visions,  started  as  if 
some  pale  ghost  had  indeed  replied..  The  next 
moment  there  stood  before  him  an  image— to  his 
disturbed  imagination  strangely  resembling  the 
being  then  uppermost  in  his  fancy.  It  was  an  in- 
stant before  he  recognised  his  daughter  Julia,  in  a 
loose  night-dress  of  white,  her  face  deadly  pale, 
and  a  spot  of  blood  on  her  cheek. 

Such  are  the  discords  which  break  upon  the 
music  of  hope's  enchanted  strain. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Dreams  of  the  Young  as  contrasted  ivith  those  of  the 
Old  in  the  foregoing  Chapter,  and  an  Interruption  more 
awkward  than  the  last. 


"  Manoah.   Some  dismal  accident  it  needs  must  be ; 

What  shall  we  do,  stay  here,  or  run  and  see  ?" 

Samson  Jlgonistes. 

THE  reader  has  already  classed  Norman  Leslie 
among  those  characters  so  frequent  at  the  present 
day,  thoughtful,  ardent,  contemplative,  and  inac- 
tive young  men,  viewing  all  things  through  the 
medium  of  a  strong  imagination,  much  swayed  by 
impulse,  and  accustomed  to  exaggerate  all  that 
befalls  them.  A  vein  of  poetry  and  romance  ran 
through  his  character,  which  active  and  laborious 
occupation  had  never  broken  up.  Reared  in  the 
lap  of  wealth  and  luxury,  he  lacked  the  stimulus 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  147 

to  action  which  forces  most  men,  for  the  support 
of  life,  amid  the  harsh  realities  and  homely  con- 
flicts of  business.  Full  of  musing  melancholy, 
sensitive  to  every  passing  impression,  much  of 
boyish  illusion  yet  lingered  about  his  steps  ;  and 
love,  when  once  kindled  by  a  worthy  object,  be- 
came immediately  the  absorbing  principle  of  his 
nature  and  of  his  existence.  The  shock  which  his 
young  confidence  had  received  from  Miss  Romain 
had  both  sharpened  his  observation  and  deepened 
his  character.  For  a  time  his  soul  recoiled,  not 
only  from  the  giddy  and  frivolous  girl  who  had 
so  deceived  him,  but  from  the  very  passion  into 
which  he  had  been  deceived.  Then  Flora  Tem- 
ple's image  rose  before  him  with  a  new,  a  more 
delicious,  and  bewildering  power.  He  repelled  it ; 
he  even  attempted  to  deride  and  undervalue  it. 
Unable  to  banish  it,  he  admitted  it  but  only  at  first 
to  scrutinize  and  condemn.  He  would  not  ac- 
knowledge to  himself,  that  after  having  bent  before 
the  fascinations  of  one,  he  could  so  soon  yield  to 
those  of  another.  Hence  his  almost  bitter  deline- 
ation of  Flora's  character  at  Mrs.  Temple's  to 
Moreland  ;  hence  his  frequent  coldness  of  manner 
towards  herself.  He  struggled  against  the  fetters 
which  her  every  action,  look,  and  smile  wove 
around  his  soul.  He  strove  to  force  his  mind  into 
the  conviction  that  she  was  less  perfect  than  she 
appeared.  There  was  a  time  when  Rosalie  Ro- 
main had  just  so  spell-bound  him  ;  so  once  at  the 
sound  of  her  step,  at  the  tone  of  her  voice,  his 
pulse  had  leaped,  his  heart  had  trembled.  He 
would  break  away  from  the  enchantress — he 
would  fly  from  the  effeminate  allurements  of  all 
women.  Broad  and  noble  paths  were  opened  to 
his  pride  and  his  ambition.  Deep  in  his  heart, 
although  yet  not  fully  awakened,  lay  a  thousand 
high  aspirations.  The  yearning  after  the  world's 


148  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

applause,  the  quiet  but  never-ceasing  thirst  for 
the  scholar's  lore,  philanthropy,  and  the  hope  of 
being  one  day  useful  to  his  race — all  these  with- 
out ostentation  mingled  in  the  material  of  Norman 
Leslie's  character.  And  there  were  moments  when 
he  resolved  to  turn  away  even  from  love,  even 
from  the  love  of  Flora  Temple,  as  from  a  selfish 
passion  that  would  enervate  and  entangle  his 
mind.  But  these  were  only  moments ;  and  from 
undervaluing  her,  he  swept  to  the  other  extreme. 
Nothing  vacillates  more  widely  and  frequently 
than  the  mind  of  a  youthful  lover.  The  idea  of  her 
union  with  Clairmont  clothed  her  with  new  at- 
tractions, by  that  strange  principle  of  our  nature 
which  renders  things  more  precious  when  beyond 
our  reach.  He  had  already  learned  to  regard  her 
as  one  too  angelic  to  share  his  human  path. 

These  were  his  reflections  as,  silent  and  alone, 
on  the  evening  designated  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter, he  wended  his  way  by  the  uncertain  light  of 
the  stars  from  a  gay  revel,  where  he  had  again  lin- 
gered, enchanted,  by  the  side  of  Flora.  All  the 
tenderness  of  his  love  descended  upon  him.  The 
hushed  solitude  around,  the  broad  heavens  above, 
contributed  to  soften  his  mind  into  one  of  those 
romantic  reveries  with  which  imaginative  men 
often  repay  themselves  in  their  secret  hours  for 
the  harsh  disappointments  of  the  dull  inexorable 
world.  Around  him  rose  a  creation  of  his  own 
fancy,  peopled  with  his  fondest  dreams — his  most 
secret  and  tender  aspirations.  Thus  lost  in  medi- 
tation, and  insensibly  charmed  by  the  quiet  beauty 
of  the  night,  he  paced  slowly  onward,  he  scarcely 
knew  whither,  but  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  of 
his  own  dwelling. 

Oh,  the  dreams  of  a  young  lover  in  a  solitary 
night  ramble  !  Where  else  does  the  world  brighten 
into  such  an  elysium  1 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  149 

"  Then,  indeed,"  continued  the  musing  youth, 
as  the  current  of  his  thoughts  flowed  silently  and 
sweetly  on — thoughts  which  took  their  tinge  of 
happiness  from  the  grace  and  innocent  loveliness 
of  their  beautiful  subject — "  then,  indeed,  what 
an  Eden  would  be  the  earth  !  what  a  blissful 
dream  would  be  existence !  what  a  sunny  joy, 
what  a  golden  radiance  would  steal  across  my 
path  ! — Flora  Temple  should  confess  she  loved 
me.  To  sit  alone  by  her  side,  steeped  in  the  rap- 
ture of  fully  requited  affection — to  thrill  with  the 
grace  of  her  bashful  confidence,  of  her  timid 
and  yielding  love — to  wind  my  arm  unreproved 
around  her  graceful  form — to  feel  her  breath  on 
my  cheek,  to  linger  beneath  the  touch  of  those 
young  and  loving  lips,  to  hear  them  pour  out  the 
breathings  of  that  pure  and  exalted  soul,  to  sit 
hours  and  hours,  looking  into  the  beauty  which 
floats  in  her  eyes — now  murmuring  my  impas- 
sioned worship — now  listening  to  her  fond  return  ; 
my  hand  clasped  in  hers  as  1  noted  the  rise  and 
passing  away  of  some  wandering  blush,  as  a 
happy  feeling  stirred  in  her  breast.  With  such  a 
being  for  my  wife,  existence  would  fleet  away  like 
an  exhalation.  What  joy  to  read  to  her  all  that 
poetry  has  reared  of  golden  enchantment !  to  wan- 
der with  her  through  the  magnificent  realms 
built  so  superbly  up  by  the  hand  of  fiction — to  ride 
forth  in  the  summer  morning  amid  the  fragrant 
woods  ;  or,  in  the  mellow,  deep  sunset-hour,  from 
the  portico  of  some  dear  and  sylvan  abode,  to  note 
the  tinges  fade  from  the  clouds,  to  bend  and  ad- 
mire together  the  floweret  by  the  roadside,  to  trace 
the  wanderings  of  the  humming-bee  ;  or  to  look 
together  up  to  the  hushed  and  holy  heavens,  our 
characters  and  affections,  as  our  thoughts,  purified 
and  elevated  ! — thus,  with  that  dear  angel  ever  by 
my  side,  to  choose  out  our  favourite  stars  among 
N  2 


150  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

those  ever-burning  myriads.  Yon  kindling  orb 
should  be  hers ;  and  that  faint  spark  close  to  its 
side  should  teach  her  how  dim  and  yet  how  near 
my  soul  was  to  her  own. 

"Then,  travel — I  would  take  her  over  the 
world  ;  we  would  study  together  the  history  and 
languages  of  the  mighty  Europe ;  we  would 
wander,  still  hand-in-hand,  over  its  traces  of  daz- 
zling splendour  and  solemn  desolation — the  wrecks 
of  time  and  history,  the  sublime  footmarks  of  the 
great  of  old. 

"And  wherefore  should  I  doubt?  Mystery 
hangs  around  her,  but  it  is  not  in  her.  Has  not 
her  manner  melted,  has  not  her  voice  trembled  to 
me  ?  And  yet  they  tell  me  that  she  is  the  affianced 
bride  of  Clairmont !" 

He  had  now  rambled  on  unknowingly  far  out  of 
his  way  to  a  remote  and  solitary  part  of  the  town, 
and  was  threading  a  dark  and  narrow  lane,  where 
only  a  distant  lamp  shed  any  beam  of  light.  Per- 
ceiving that  he  had  lost  his  way,  he  paused ;  and 
at  that  moment  received  a  heavy  blow,  stag- 
gered several  paces  back,  and  fell  to  the  earth 
nearly  senseless.  In  an  instant,  however,  recover- 
ing from  the  shock,  he  felt  a  powerful  hand,  and 
trembling  with  intense  eagerness,  busy  at  his  throat, 
while  the  murderer  seemed  feeling  with  the  other 
in  his  bosom.  Something  fell  to  the  pavement, 
ringing  like  the  blade  of  a  dagger,  and  was  in- 
stantly grasped  up  again.  With  the  vehement 
fury  of  despair,  the  prostrate  victim  suddenly 
clutched  the  throat  of  his  assailant,  and  a  fierce, 
rapid,  and  tremendous  struggle  ensued,  such  as 
swells  the  veins  of  men  striving  for  life  and 
death.  For  a  moment  the  profound  silence  was 
disturbed  only  by  the  stamping  and  trampling 
of  heavy  and  desperate  feet.  Roused  to  the  full 
exertion  of  his  athletic  form,  Leslie  had  acquired 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  151 

a  slight  advantage  over  his  opponent,  and,  with  an 
exclamation  of  deep  triumph,  was  about  to  dash 
him  to  the  earth,  when  a  cold  and  thrilling  sensa- 
tion in  his  side  for  a  moment  checked  his  breath, 
and  shot  through  his  soul  the  terrible  sense  of 
death.  His  voice  rose,  and  rang  far  and  wide  on 
the  air,  startling  the  solemn  silence  with  the  cry, 
so  blood-curdling  when  heard  through  the  night, 
of  "  Murder  !  murder  !" 

"  Ha  ! — hell !"  cried  a  voice.  With  each  excla- 
mation Leslie  felt  the  desperate  plunge  of  his  as- 
sailant's arm,  and  scarcely  knew  whether  or  not 
the  blade  drank  his  life. 

The  cry,  however,  alarmed  the  neighbourhood. 
A  watchman  awoke  and  struck  his  club  upon  the 
pavement ;  windows  were  slammed  open,  and 
nightcaps  emerged  into  the  air.  But  ere  assist- 
ance reached  him,  Leslie  grew  deadly  sick.  His 
eyes  swam,  his  brain  reeled ;  unnatural  figures, 
ghastly  faces,  and  lurid  lights  glided  and  glared 
around  him.  With  an  intensely  clear  conception 
that  he  was  floating  into  the  realms  of  death,  all 
grew  gradually  dark,  cold,  and  silent ;  then  sen- 
sation passed  utterly  away. 


152  NORMAN   LESLIE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  Family  Picture— The  discriminating  Delicacy  of  Party 
Politicians. 


"  There  is  one  piece  of  sophistry  practised  by  both  sides,  and 
that  is,  the  taking  any  scandalous  story  that  has  been  ever  whis- 
pered or  invented  of  a  private  man  for  a  known  undoubted  truth, 
and  raising  suitable  speculations  upon  it." 

The  Spectator. 


THE  gray  light  of  dawn  stole  into  the  chamber. 
Norman  lay  stretched  upon  his  back  on  the  couch, 
his  features  settled  into  a  livid  and  ghastly  hue,  as 
if  death  had  already  struck  him  :  cold — passion- 
less^-senseless — rigid ;  the  eyes  closed,  the  cheeks, 
forehead,  and  mouth  sharpened.  Recall  him  as  he 
moved  a  few  hours  before  in  the  flush  of  strength 
and  health,  or  wandered  in  blissful  reveries  beneath 
the  stars,  weaving  visions  of  future  joy.  How 
strange  that  all,  even  when  they  least  dream  of  it, 
may  have  run  to  the  edge  of  the  abyss.  What  a 
happy  constitution  of  our  nature  which  can  ever 
forget  this  frightful  truth — which  can  lose  itself  in 
the  dance  and  the  song;  which  can  watch  the 
melting  cloud,  the  fading  rainbow,  the  withering 
flower ;  and  never  tremble — never  remember  that 
we  ourselves  are  as  fleeting. 

Over  the  prostrate  and  almost  unbreathing  form 
of  the  youth  bent  four  figures.  The  first  was  a 
surgeon,  eminent  both  in  Europe  and  America  for 
his  extraordinary  skill,  and  the  success  with  which 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  153 

he  had  for  many  years  performed  most  difficult 
and  daring  operations.  Long  habit  had  rendered 
him  callous  to  every  sign  of  distress,  either  in  the 
patient  or  the  bleeding  hearts  of  the  circle  around. 
He  could  take  you  off  a  limb  with  a  quiet  smile, 
and  draw  the  glittering  and  fearful  instrument 
through  the  shrinking  convulsive  flesh  of  the  living, 
with  the  same  accustomed  composure  with  which 
he  laid  open  the  mysteries  of  God's  mightiest  ma- 
chine in  death.  He  stood  over  Norman  calmly, 
and  with  that  slight  air  of  professional  importance 
which  few,  if  any,  can  separate  from  their  exer- 
tions of  skill.  The  patient  breathed  with  a  mo- 
mentarily lengthened  respiration,  and  a  low  faint 
moan  broke  from  his  pallid  lips.  The  half-smiling 
practitioner  had  just  dressed  the  wounds,  with  as 
much  apparent  solicitude  to  preserve  his  own 
wristbands  unstained,  as  to  secure  the  life  which 
ebbed  so  low  in  the  youth's  veins.  You  would 
have  imagined  Dr.  Wetmore,  from  his  bland  and 
pleasant  air,  superintending  some  pretty  chymical 
operation,  rather  than  striving  to  reunite  those  half- 
severed  ties  which  held  a  human  soul  from  its  flight 
into  eternity. 

By  his  side  Dr.  Melbourne,  the  first  physician  of 
the  city,  watched  the  face,  and  ever  and  anon  felt 
the  pulse,  of  the  object  of  their  solicitude.  His 
prepossessing  features  were,  although  in  but  a  slight 
degree,  more  touched  with  solemnity ;  and  if  calm 
and  deliberate  in  every  motion,  still  he  did  not 
smile.  He  exhibited  undivided  attention  in  the  suf- 
fering of  the  patient.  Perhaps,  being  more  familiar 
with  pain  in  a  less  bloody  form,  and  in  a  sphere 
immediately  comprehended  within  his  own  circle 
of  skill,  the  sight  now  before  him  struck  upon 
those  sympathies  undulled  by  use.  On  the  other 
side — kneeling,  her  hair  dishevelled,  her  dress 
thrown  hastily  on,  pale,  agitated  with  suspense, 


154  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

anguish,  and  horror — the  light  shone  faintly  on  the 
features  of  Miss  Leslie.  Lastly,  the  noble  form 
of  the  father — in  that  majestic  and  almost  proud 
attitude  unconsciously  assumed  by  those  exercis- 
ing a  strong  power  over  passion  or  feeling.  His 
face  was  pale  indeed ;  his  lips  compressed ;  but 
the  muscles  of  his  features  moved  not — there  was 
not  a  start,  a  stir,  a  tear — when  the  two  learned 
gentlemen  raised  themselves  as  the  task  was  fin- 
ished. Norman  still  lay  insensible,  and  the  picture 
of  death.  Indeed,  for  a  moment  both  father  and 
sister  thought  the  spirit  fled. 

"Is  he  gone?  is  it  over?"  asked  Mr.  Leslie,  his 
paleness  increasing,  as  his  medical  advisers  slowly 
withdrew  from  the  bed.  He  followed  them ;  Miss 
Leslie  did  so  likewise,  with  a  faint  and  choked 
sob,  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  eyes  streaming 
with  tears. 

One  or  two  significant  looks  passed  between  the 
doctors,  and  then  the  surgeon  replied  in  a  low 
whisper, — 

"  Why,  Mr.  Leslie,  as  yet— " 

A  scarcely  perceptible  convulsion  flitted  across 
the  face  of  the  father. 

"  As  yet  he  lives,  but — " 

Miss  Leslie  sank  back  in  a  chair  in  agony,  bent 
down  her  head,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands — 

"  My  brother— my  brother— oh,  my  brother !" 

Mr.  Leslie  drew  his  companion  yet  farther  away, 
where  their  voices  might  not  disturb  the  invalid. 
Melbourne  returned  to  the  bedside. 

"Dr.  Wetmore,"  said  the  father,  "speak  the 
worst.  Must  he  die  ?" 

"  Impossible  to  say,  my  good  sir.  The  scales 
hang  even.  A  moment — a  breath — a  hair  may 
decide  ;  but  the  danger  is  certainly  not  imme- 
diate." 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  155 

«'  He  may  then  recover  ?" 

"  Possibly,"  replied  the  surgeon,  passing  his  fin- 
gers over  the  sleeve  of  his  coat  to  brush  away  a 
thread. 

Night  again  arrived.  The  most  gloomy  fore- 
bodings were  entertained  of  the  patient.  Norman 
remained  weak  and  in  great  pain.  All  conversa- 
tion was  forbidden  him.  It  was  the  day  of  their 
intended  visit  to  Washington ;  Julia  had  forgotten 
it.  The  gayeties  of  fashionable  life  had  occupied 
but  little  of  her  thoughts ;  she  enjoyed,  but  never 
abandoned  herself  to  them.  Her  anticipations  of 
the  seat  of  government  were  largely  made  up  of 
the  expected  triumph  of  her  father  in  the  long 
looked  for  debate.  Never  beat  a  more  tender  and 
affectionate  heart  than  hers.  Whatever  she  loved, 
she  loved  enthusiastically,  romantically.  Although 
her  young  soul  had  learned  to  yield  itself  to  the 
solicitations  of  Howard,  she  found  no  diminution 
of  her  affection  for  her  brother  and  father.  The 
attachment  was  not  like  other  attachments  ;  there 
were  in  its  progress  no  doubts,  no  dislikes,  no 
heart-burnings,  no  oppositions.  It  was  the  growth 
of  a  kind  and  gentle  climate,  shooting  up  and 
blossoming  richly  in  perpetual  sunshine.  Her 
nature  was  all  love.  Terrible  were  the  thoughts 
which  broke  upon  her  young  dreams,  while  she 
watched  Norman's  pillow.  She  had  never  before 
suffered  a  misfortune ;  had  never  even  seen  sick- 
ness ;  and  death — it  seemed  to  her  the  calamity  of 
some  lower  world.  The  ghastly  and  frightful 
spectre  had  scarcely  ever  entered  even  the  sunny 
circle  of  her  thoughts.  She  had  never  lost  a 
friend.  Her  mother  had  passed  away  long  before 
her  memory;  and  she  pictured  her,  not  in  the  start- 
ling and  awful  vestments  of  the  grave,  but  as  an 
angel  in  heaven.  Happy  girl !  happy  girl !  she 
had  never  seen  her  heart's  dearest  adored  struck 


156  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

by  the  sudden  shaft  from  smiling  health  to  the 
dark  and  hashed  bed  of  agony.  She  had  never 
seen  the  form  the  most  doted  on  wasted,  palsied, 
and  strengthless ;  the  voice,  interwoven  with  years 
of  love,  changed,  till  it  met  her  with  a  strange  and 
unnatural  tone ;  the  lips  shrunken  to  an  expression 
never  seen  before  ;  the  eyes  gleaming  with  a  so- 
lemnity new  and  appalling,  as  if  some  demon  had 
entered  the  body ;  the  form  so  hallowed,  so  ten- 
derly dear,  racked  with  all  the  tremendous  engines 
of  disease  and  death. 

Mr.  Leslie's  emotions  were  for  a  time  equally 
undivided.  He  forgot  his  lofty  schemes;  hia 
haughty  ambition — all  the  statesman  passed  from 
his  bosom,  and  left  him  exposed  to  the  agony  of  a 
father's  solicitude.  But  as  the  second  night  wore 
away,  other  thoughts  began  to  mingle  with  those 
to  which  he  had  at  first  been  a  prey.  The  habits 
of  thirty  years  are  deep  and  obstinate.  This 
dreadful  calamity  had  occurred  at  a  moment  when 
his  presence  at  Washington  was  pledged,  not  only 
to  his  own  hopes,  but  to  the  hopes  of  a  mighty  por- 
tion of  his  country.  Not  only  would  he  by  his  ab- 
sence suffer  a  blow  from  which,  probably,  he  would 
never  be  able  to  recover,  but  his  constituents 
would  never  retrieve  the  loss.  Perhaps  these 
thoughts  would  have  had  less  influence  over  his 
mind,  perhaps  they  would  not  even  have  gained 
entrance  there  at  all,  but  for  an  occurrence  which, 
although  he  might  have  done  so,  he  had  not  in  the 
least  foreseen.  Party  spirit  in  the  United  States 
sometimes  rages  with  unlimited  fury  ;  sometimes 
(shame  to  those  among  my  countrymen  who 
countenance  such  violations  of  decency  !)  descends 
to  the  most  unjustifiable  means  to  put  up  or  put 
down  a  powerful  politician^  The  misfortunes  or 
accidents  of  private  life  are  by  a  certain  class 
seized  upon  with  indiscriminating  avidity.  Per- 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  157 

sonal  feelings,  even  domestic  casualties  of  the  most 
sacred  nature,  are  not  unfrequently  dragged  forth 
to  feed  the  thirst  for  ridicule  and  slander  which 
these  thoughtless  agents,  tools  of  political  leaders, 
think  it  not  beneath  them  to  resort  to.  I  am  not 
here  speaking  of  my  country;  I  allude  but  to 
those  (and  they  are  very  often  foreigners)  who 
by  this  licentiousness  disgrace  and  insult  it.  On 
the  present  occasion,  the  fond  father,  while  over- 
whelmed in  unutterable  anxiety  and  anguish,  found 
a  certain  set  of  daily  journals  ridiculing  his  dis- 
tress, and  endeavouring  to  link  it  with  fabrications 
dishonourable  to  him.  One  organ  of  the  opposite 
party  observed — "  The  report, ;so  currently  circu- 
lated to-day,  of  the  robbery  and  assassination  of 
Mr.  Norman  Leslie,  son  of  the  celebrated  Mr. 
Mordaunt  Leslie,  proves  to  be  but  a  trick.  Mr. 
Norman  Leslie  was  hurt,  as  our  respectable  con- 
temporary the  'Democratic  Journal'  has  it,  in  a 
fray.  If  young  gentlemen  will  sow,  they  must 
expect  to  reap.  The  wounds,  however,  we  are 
credibly  informed,  are  altogether  unimportant; 
but  the  eloquent  statesman  is  happy  to  avail  him- 
self of  any  excuse  for  not  meeting  the  thunders  of 

Mr.  B ,   which  he  well  knows  would  burst 

upon  him  were  he  to  show  himself  at  this  period 
in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States." 

These  and  other  paragraphs  forced  the  subject 
of  his  political  affairs  upon  his  attention  in  a  new 
light ;  and  as  he  hung  over  the  pillow  of  his  son, 
his  mind  was  torn  with  contending  emotions. 


VOL.  I. 0 


156  NORMAN    LESLIE. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  American  Capitol — The  Presidents  Levee,  a  Trifle 
which  may  chance  to  be  of  more  Importance  than  the 
Reader  thinks. 

"  'Tis  slander : 

Whose  edge  is  sharper  than  the  sword  ;  whose  tongue 
Out-venoms  all  the  worms  of  Nile  ;  whose  hreath  ^ 

Rides  on  the  posting  wind,  and  doth  belie 
All  corners  of  the  world  ;  kings,  queens,  and  states, 
Maids,  matrons  ;  nay,  the  secrets  of  the  grave 
This  viperous  slander  enters." 

Cymbeline. 

NEVER  had  there  been  a  gayer  season  at  Wash- 
ington. The  session  of  Congress  was  one  of  the  most 
interesting  since  that  which  had  issued  the  Decla- 
ration of  Independence.  Of  course,  the  crowd 
was  immense.  The  city,  as  everybody  knows,  or 
ought  to  know,  although  the  plan  of  a  leviathan 
town,  of  unequalled  splendour,  is  as  yet  but  a  mere 
sprinkling  of  houses  over  a  large  plain  and  two  or 
three  abrupt  hills,  in  location  not  unlike  ancient 
Rome.  There  is  but  one  street,  Pennsylvania 
Avenue,  worthy  of  the  name;  which,  from  its 
length  and  breadth,  and  the  fact  that  it  is  the 
grand  thoroughfare,  assumes  an  air  of  importance, 
without  presenting  any  particular  claims  to  atten- 
tion. The  private  residences  of  the  great  are 
away  off  in  this  direction  and  in  that,  at  such  in- 
ordinate distances  from  each  other  as  to  render 
boot-making  and  hackney-coach  driving  more  than 
usually  profitable  trades.  The  citizens  themselves 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  159 

live  comfortably  and  snugly  together,  with  no 
marked  difference  to  distinguish  them  from  the  in- 
habitants of  other  large  villages,  except  a  some- 
what arrogant  demeanour  on  account  of  the  Capi- 
tol, and  peradventure  a  contemptuous  smile  in  the 
face  of  a  New-Yorker  or  Philadelphian,  who  should 
praise  the  City  Hall  or  the  United  States  Bank  of 
their  respective  cities.  There  is  a  small  theatre, 
some  pretty  churches,  and  several  immense  hotels. 
The  President's  house  would  pass  for  a  palace  in 
Europe ;  and  the  Capitol,  a  structure  of  white  mar- 
ble, situated  on  a  high  and  lofty  eminence,  is  at 
once  magnificent  and  stupendous.  You  can 
scarcely  tire  of  perusing  its  imposing  and  gigan- 
tic proportions.  You  may  ride  round  it  again 
and  again,  view  it  from  every  position,  at  every 
period  of  the  day,  it  continues  to  grow  upon  the 
imagination.  Its  ponderous  dome  reminds  you  of 
St.  Peter's.  Both  the  interior  and  exterior  views 
are  full  of  grandeur.  The  Rotunda  is  lofty  and 
superb.  Then,  how  alive  it  is  with  echoes ! 
Every  accidental  sound  is  repeated  and  magni- 
fied; reverberating  strange  noises,  that  mingle 
into  moans  and  waitings  like  the  grieving  of  spirits 
in  the  air.  Men  and  women,  too,  look  so  little  on 
the  broad  floor  and  beneath  that  soaring  vault 

The  finest  prospect  is  from  the  terrace.  It 
is  really  remarkable  and  beautiful.  The  hill  is 
abrupt,  and  sufficiently  high  to  command  a  pano- 
ramic view  of  the  city  and  surrounding  country, 
the  residence  of  the  chief  of  the  republic  showing 
finely  from  a  distant  hill ;  and  the  Potomac  sweep- 
ing on  with  its  broad  current,  to  which  the  Seine 
and  the  Thames  are  but  rivulets. 

It  was  a  mild  and  pleasant  afternoon  towards 
the  end  of  March,  and  a  few  evenings  after  the 
singular  attempt  upon  young  Leslie's  life.  The 
sun  had  gone  down  radiantly,  leaving  all  the  west 


160  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

a  wall  of  golden  light,  and  the  earth  lay  beneath 
steeped  in  purple  softness  and  tranquil  beauty. 
Congress  had  adjourned  for  the  day,  and  hundreds 
were  pouring,  all  in  the  same  direction  (and  all 
busily  engaged  in  commenting  upon  the  occur- 
rences of  the  debate  just  concluded),  from  the 
steep  Capitol-hill  and  into  the  broad  Pennsylvania 
Avenue.  Many  members  were  dashing  down  on 
horseback,  and  a  train  of  carriages  conducted 
others  to  their  hotels  or  houses. 

We  have  said  that  the  crisis  was  an  interesting 
one.  At  this  period  it  had  reached  its  acme. 
The  next  day  was  that  fixed  for  the  long  expected 
and  much  talked  of  speech  of  Mr.  Leslie.  The 
news  of  the  catastrophe  which  at  this  unfortunate 
moment  had  happened  to  his  son  had  reached 
Washington,  with  many  various  modifications 
and  exaggerations.  His  strong  attachment  to 
his  family  was  well  known.  It  wras  doubted 
whether  young  Mr.  Leslie  was  not  dying — nay, 
was  not  dead.  Flying  reports  glanced  from  lip 
to  lip.  The  question  of  the  great  statesman's 
arrival  became  one  of  general  conversation  and 
interest ;  and,  perhaps,  of  the  throngs  who  now 
issued  from  that  immense  and  most  beautiful  edi- 
fice, nearly  all  were  either  speaking  or  thinking  of 
the  accomplished  and  soul-stirring  orator,  who  had 
already  flung  down  his  gauntlet  fiercely  to  the 
most  eloquent  leader  of  the  opposite  party;  and 
whose  absence  now,  while  it  deprived  the  con- 
course of  the  conflict,  perhaps  as  interesting  as 
that  of  the  two  last  gladiators  on  a  Roman  amphi- 
theatre, left  also  a  strong  disappointment  upon 
his  excited  and  expecting  party. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remind  the  European 
reader  that,  in  a  republic  like  the  United  States, 
eloquence  is  an  art  peculiarly  important,  and  con- 
sequently peculiarly  cultivated.  Questions  of  the 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  161 

deepest  weight  have  agitated  her  councils,  fully 
betraying  the  fiery  energies  and  outbreaks  of  a 
youthful  people  ;  and  her  legislative  floor  has 
already  trembled  beneath  bursts  of  passionate  and 
lofty  eloquence,  such  as  shook  the  Roman  Forum 
when  Rome  was  free.  These  periods,  however, 
thus  far  have  only  illustrated  the  strength  of  the 
political  fabric,  and  fully  confirmed  the  confidence 
of  her  people.  Like  every  other  human  bark,  she 
floats  upon  an  ocean,  and  beneath  a  sky,  where 
danger  sometimes  yawns  in  her  path  and  thunders 
above  her  head  ;  but  she  has  ridden  securely  and 
majestically  the  elemental  war.  The  fury  of  po- 
litical zeal,  and  the  clash  and  fluctuations  of  com- 
mercial interests,  have  sometimes  shrouded  her 
in  alarm  and  darkness;  but  the  clouds  soon  broke 
away,  and  instead  of  discovering  but  the  scattered 
fragments  of  a  wreck,  we  find  her  swollen  canvass 
still  lofty  in  the  sun,  and  her  star-spangled  banner 
streaming  on  the  wind.  Her  only  object  is  the 
freedom  and  happiness  of  the  human  race  ;  and 
the  experience  of  past  ages  furnishes  her  a  chart 
by  which  she  may  hope  to  avoid  the  quicksands 
of  treachery  and  the  rocks  of  foreign  and  domestic 
ambition.  Other  nations  boast  of  their  country ; 
why  should  not  the  American  be  proud  of  his? 
Conceit  is  a  charge  most  commonly  and  sneeringly 
urged  against  us.  What  other  nation  does  not 
equally  merit  it?  Who  so  arrogant,  so  overbear- 
ing, so  uncompromisingly  exacting  in  his  claims 
to  national  superiority,  as  the  Englishman?  Who 
so  ludicrously  tenacious,  so  likely  to  run  you 
through  the  body  in  the  defence  of  the  grand  glory 
of  his  country,  as  a  Frenchman  ?  It  is  a  very 
honourable,  happy,  and  useful  feeling.  Why  shall 
not  we  also  regard  the  future  with  hope  ?  Who 
can  so  justly  point  to  the  past  and  the  present 
with  exultation  ? 

o2 


162  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

The  crowd  passed  away.  The  sun  went  down 
soft  as  the  eyes  of  a  widowed  wife  ;  full  and 
melancholy  rose  the  moon.  It  was  the  night  of 
the  President's  levee — and  all  the  world  were  to  be 
there.  This  is  the  American  court.  Here  gathers 
into  a  focus  the  flower  of  American  talent,  although 
necessarily  blended  with  dashes  of  more  homely 
material. 

At  nine,  Howard  and  his  father  drove  to 
the  large  and  palace-like  building  of  the  Presi- 
dent ;  and  making  their  way  with  some  difficulty 
through  the  throng  of  equipages,  they  drove  in  Be- 
neath the  arch,  and  soon  found  themselves  in  the 
brilliantly  lighted  and  crowded  apartments.  The 
coup  cfasil,  indeed,  was  dazzling  :  so  many  rooms 
were  thrown  open — so  much  gay  company  had 
already  assembled — nymphs  and  sylphs  floating 
all  over  in  groups — officers  in  glittering  uniforms 
— and  a  heterogeneous  mixture  of  the  great  and 
the  lovely — tributes  from  town  and  country — ex- 
quisites from  Philadelphia,  New- York,  and  Boston 
— dashing  61egants  from  Charleston  and  Baltimore. 
The  sturdy  planter  from  the  South,  master,  per- 
ad venture,  of  a  hundred  or  two  slaves — plain  grave 
men  from  the  Western  settlements — the  culled  for 
talent  from  the  sparse  population — belles  from  the 
meridian  of  city  fashion,  with  the  true  Parisian 
air  and  elegance.  Indeed,  the  classes  meeting 
here  are  strikingly  opposite  and  picturesque — 
the  gleanings  of  a  country  comprising  an  area  of 
two  millions  square  miles. 

"  Come,  my  son,"  said  the  judge,  "  our  first  duty 
is  to  the  President." 

"  I  do  not  see  him,  sir,"  said  Howard,  looking 
around. 

"  Yonder,  Hal,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room ; 
that  plain  old  gentleman  standing  to  receive  the 
presentations.  Look,  Governor  L is  taking 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  163 

up  Mrs.  and  Miss  Temple.  See  how  kindly  and 
simply  familiar  he  is  with  all  alike.  He  chats  as 
gracefully  and  easily  now  as  a  young  beau.  It  is 
a  fine  sight,  Hal." 

"It  is  interesting  from  its  perfect  simplicity  and 
absence  of  ostentation,"  replied  Howard. 

They  made  their  way  up  to  the  first  man  of  the 
republic,  and  the  judge  introduced  his  son.  The 
President  was  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  and  a  light  and  agreeable  conversation 
was  going  on;  in  which,  for  a  few  moments,  young 
Howard  bore  his  part  with  ready  address.  'There 
was  perceptible  in  the  whole  circle  nothing  more 
than  an  intelligent  and  hospitable  host  welcoming 
his  guests.  But  the  numbers  of  introductions  pre- 
vented of  course  any  prolonged  conversation. 

"  Look  around  you,  my  son,"  said  the  judge, 
who,  in  the  exercise  of  his  duties  a  cold,  firm, 
astute,  and  devoted  labourer,  yet  nurtured,  as  such 
men  even  when  least  suspected  very  often  do,  a 
green  spot  in  his  heart,  where  affection  and  poetic 
feeling  were  as  fresh  and  verdant  as  in  the  bosom 
of  a  boy,  and  who  watched  over  the  education  of 
his  son  with  the  fondest  and  tenderest  care — 
"  look  around  you,  Hal ;  you  are  in  a  spot  which 
should  put  your  meditations  in  motion.  Few  on 
the  globe  are  more  worthy  your  observationA 
Here  is  the  palace,  court,  and  throne  of  your! 
country — the  highest  ornament,  its  moral  glory.  ^ 
Here  learn  to  love  simplicity  and  national  free- 
dom. Here  you  breathe  the  pure  atmosphere  of 
liberty  and  reason.  You  are  the  equal  of  him 
whom  you  have  chosen  your  chief.  Guard  your 
actions,  improve  your  mind,  and  you  may  one  day 
stand  in  his  place." 

"  There  are  two  persons  here,"  said  Howard, 
who  was  accustomed  to  reason  with  his  father — 
"  there  are  two  persons  here  to-night  who  jar 


164  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

somewhat  on  the  pleasure  which  the  scene 
affords." 

"  Who,  my  son  ?" 

"Yonder  broad-shouldered  man,  sir,  has  been 
pointed  out  to  me  in  the  street  as  the  master  of 
two  hundred  slaves — " 

«  A-hem  !"  said  the  judge  :  "  and  the  other  ?" 

"  Look  there,"  rejoined  Howard. 

His  father,  following  the  direction  of  his  eyes, 
beheld  the  tall,  startling,  and  majestic  figure  of  an 
Indian  chief.  He  was  in  full  costume,  with  his 
guide,  and  stepped  about  the  rooms — cold,  stern, 
erect — with  his  dark  piercing  eyes,  straight  hair, 
and  copper  complexion ;  a  pipe  and  fan,  however, 
he  held  in  his  hand  instead  of  a  weapon,  as  an  evi- 
dence that  he  considered  his  nation  no  longer  at 
war  with  the  United  States.  While  he  stood,  a 
painter,  who  had  just  obtained  from  him  a  promise 
to  sit  for  a  portrait,  observed  to  him, — 

"  But,  instead  of  your  pipe  and  fan,  you  must 
hold  your  spear." 

"  No,"  said  the  dark  warrior ;  "  no  spear  for 
me ;  I  have  done  with  spears  for  ever." 

"  Did  you  hear  that  proud  and  melancholy  re- 
ply ?"  continued  Howard.  "  I  could  wish  the  slave- 
master  and  the  Indian  out  of  the  picture." 

"  You  are  yet  unstudied  in  these  matters,  Hal. 
Your  feeling  is  noble,  romantic,  and  natural.  The 
ardent  and  susceptible  do  not  understand  how 
these  things,  being  entailed  on  us  by  others,  over 
whom  we  had  no  control,  now  remain,  and  must  re- 
main, till  gradually  cleansed  from  our  political  sys- 
tem by  time  and  wisdom.  You  are  right  in  sup- 
posing them  evils ;  but  wrong  in  the  belief  that 
they  are  to  be  ascribed  to  us,  or  that  we  even  have 
the  power  of  immediately  disentangling  ourselves 
from  them.  But  come,  I  see  you  are  anxious  to 
get  to  the  ladies ;  and  yonder  is  Miss  Temple,  look- 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  165 

ing  as  sad,  and  casting  her  eyes  as  often  at  you,  as 
if—" 

"  I  promised  to  let  her  know  the  intelligence  in 
my  letter  from  the  Leslies,"  said  Howard. 

"  Well,  well ;  let  me  present  you  to  one  or  two  of 
my  intimates,  and  then  you  shall  be  at  liberty  to 
seek  out  your  own." 

So  saying,  after  selecting  a  dozen  of  the  first 
men  in  the  rooms,  and  formally  presenting  his  son, 
he  entered  himself  into  their  circle  ;  where  he  was 
hailed  as  one  of  the  most  enlightened,  profound,  and 
gifted  members  of  their  party. 

Thus  at  leisure,  Howard  made  his  way  through 
scores  of  his  acquaintance,  and  endeavoured  to 
gain  the  arm  of  Miss  Temple  ;  but  he  was  assailed 
by  Miss  Remain,  who,  half-giddy  with  the  flatteries 
of  gentlemen  who,  struck  by  her  conspicuous 
charms,  had  pressed  successfully  for  an  introduc- 
tion to  the  beautiful  belle  from  New- York,  now 
sprang  upon  him  with  that  half-hoyden  familiarity 
with  which  she  often  covered  her  coquettish  designs. 
The  young  man  found  it  impossible  to  escape. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Howard,  so  glad  to  see  you  !  I  am 
quite  tired  of  governors,  generals,  and  commo- 
dores, and  a  plain  mister  is  quite  a  relief.  Ha ! 
Count  Clairmont ! — good  evening,  sir.  Why  you 
are  quite  a  stranger :  do  you  remember  me  ?  or 
shall  we  be  introduced  again  ?  I  am  '  Miss  Remain, 
from  New-York;'1'  and  she  playfully  (and  very 
vrell,  too)  mimicked  the  phrase  wrhich  had  been 
that  evening  so  often  repeated. 

"  Beautiful  being  !"  whispered  the  count ;  "  shall 
I  ever  forget — " 

"  Nonsense,  disagreeable  creature  !"  said  she, 
bending  her  mouth  towards  Howard.  "  Don't  you 
hate  that  Count  Clairmont  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Howard,  "  with  all  my  heart." 

Miss  Romain  looked  surprised  a  moment. 


166  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"  O  Lord  !"  she  continued,  "  here  is  that  horrid 
Indian ;  I  shall  be  tomahawked,  I  am  sure.  What 
can  bring  such  people  here?  And  there  is  Mr. 
D ,  the  great  editor ;  and  here,  see  this  tall  gen- 
tleman, Colonel  E ,  who,  this  very  morning,  had 

his  vest-button  shot  off  by  Mr.  K ;  and — O 

dear !  my  charming  Mrs.  Hamilton,  how  do  you 
do  ?  Are  you  not  delighted  here?  And  why  were 
you  not  at  the  Secretary  D 's  last  night  ?" 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  Howard  disen- 
gaged himself  from  Miss  Remain  ;  who,  knowing 
that  he  was  affianced  to  Miss  Leslie,  thought  it  a 
pretty  triumph  for  herself,  could  that  young  lady 
be  told,  by  some  officious  friend,  that  the  lover  had 
flirted  all  the  evening  with  her.  At  length,  how- 
ever, a  young  Englishman  carried  her  off  to  eat  an 
ice ;  and  Howard  found  himself  with  Flora  and 
her  mother. 

"  Come,  Mrs.  Temple,"  said  Clairmont,  "  let  us 
make  the  tour." 

"  And  shall  I  be  so  bold,"  asked  Howard,  "  as  to 
offer  my  arm  to  one  of  the  ladies,  Miss  Temple  ?" 

Flora  knew  well  Miss  Leslie's  engagement  to 
Howard,  and  availed  herself  of  his  invitation  with 
secret  joy. 

"  And  pray,  Mr.  Howard,"  asked  she,  as  they 
glided  away  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  taken  by 
her  mother  and  Clairmont — "  pray,  how  is  Miss 
Leslie  ?  [  have  suffered  to  learn  how  she  bears 
her  terrible  misfortune." 

Howard  related  all  he  knew,  which  was  in  truth 
little,  and  much  conversation  ensued  between  them. 
They  had  wandered  into  a  distant  room,  and  came, 
without  perceiving  it,  near  the  spot  where  stood 
Mrs.  Temple  and  Clairmont,  with  their  backs  to- 
wards them,  so  as  to  be  quite  unaware  of  their 
proximity. 

A  distinguished  southerner  had  just  asked  a 
question — the  last  words  were  audible  to  Flora — 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  167 

respecting  Norman's  accident,  and  the  probability 
of  Mr.  Mordaunt  Leslie's  reaching  Washington  in 
time  for  the  next  day's  debate. 

"  It  would  be  a  glorious  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple, "  were  he  to  be  away ;  though,  in  good  truth, 
I  pity  him  for  his  domestic  calamity." 

" For  his  son"  said  the  cold  voice  of  Clairmont, 
"  he  is  not  worthy  of  pity ;  he  was  hurt  in  some 
drunken  brawl ;  he  is  a  mere  dissipated  roue.  I 
know  him  to  be  a — "  The  count's  voice  sank  to  a 
lower  tone  ;  but  Flora  could  not  help  detecting  the 
words,  "  dishonest  at  cards,"  and  "  Miss  Morton's 
ring." 

"  Good  God  !"  said  the  gentleman. 

"True,  true,"  said  Mrs.  Temple;  "perfectly 
true,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

Howard  had  not  heeded  this  extraordinary  con- 
versation. He  had  been,  for  the  moment,  absorbed 
in  contemplating  the  intelligent  countenance  of  a 
young  politician,  already  reported  to  be  a  Catiline. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  V  asked  Flora,  paler  than 
she  had  yet  been. 

"  No,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  replied  Howard ; 
"  what  was  it  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Flora,  faintly,  and  in  a  short 
time  rejoined  her  mother. 

"  Bless'me,  my  dear  love  !"  said  the  latter,  "  why, 
you  look  ill !  how  unlucky  !" 

Howard  remained  till  late ;  but  he  was  ab- 
stracted, and  in  no  mood  to  enjoy  society.  Around 
him  gathered  groups  of  interesting  and  most  dis- 
tinguished men,  both  foreigners  and  natives, — ora- 
tors, members,  senators,  secretaries,  office-holders, 
and  office-seekers ;  but  his  thoughts  were  occupied 
with  his  friend  Norman's  perilous  situation,  and  the 
distress  of  Julia.  At  length  he  retired,  with  a  re- 
solution to  attend  the  debates  one  day  more,  and,  if 
then  Mr.  Leslie  did  not  arrive,  to  set  off  himself 
for  New-York. 


168  NORMAN    LESLIE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  American  Senate — Two  or  three  popular  Statesmen — 
Sketches,  whose  Originals  may  be  as  well  found  at  the 
present  Day  as  at  a  former  Period. 


"  On  the  contrary,  I  commend  Demosthenes  for  leaving 

the  tears,  and  other  instances  of  mourning  which  his  domestic 
misfortunes  might  claim,  to  the  women,  and  going  about  such  ac- 
tions as  he  thought  conducive  to  the  welfare  of  his  country  :  for, 
I  think,  a  man  of  such  firmness  and  other  abilities  as  a  states- 
man ought  to  possess,  should  always  have  the  common  concern 
in  view,  and  look  upon  his  private  accidents  or  business  as  a 
consideration  much  inferior  to  the  public." 

PLUTARCH. 


ON  the  subsequent  morning  the  Senate  assem- 
bled at  eleven.  With  great  difficulty  Howard 
procured  a  seat.  An  immense  crowd  had  thronged 
to  hear  the  interesting  debate ;  to  witness  the 
struggle  upon  an  arena  where,  in  the  full  and  fierce 
conflict  of  intellect  and  genius,  met  the  men  i# 
whose  hands  the  destinies  of  the  republic  were  re- 
posed. B ,  the  great  opponent  of  Mr.  Leslie, 

was  present ;  and  a  sudden  sensation  ran  round 
the  room  as  Mr.  Leslie  himself  entered  and  took 
his  seat.  Among  the  multitudes  in  the  apartment, 
a  majority  were  ladies.  The  section  allotted  to 
the  auditors  is  on  the  same  floor  with  the  speakers; 
and  the  fair  daughters  of  Columbia  were  accom- 
modated with  seats  by  the  politeness  of  the  learned 
senators,  to  the  utter  discomfiture  of  whole  benches 
of  dandies  and  others  of  the  male  kind,  who,  by  a 
more  early  attendance,  had  fancied  themselves 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  169 

secure.  After  much  pressure  and  toiling,  much 
rustling  of  silk,  nodding  of  feathers,  and  glancing 
of  jewels,  the  mass  at  length  settled  into  unmoving 
silence,  each  one  convinced  that,  however  abomi- 
nably uncomfortable  the  situation  he  occupied,  it 
was  useless  to  strive  after  a  better.  A  speaker 
rose.  Heads  were  turned — necks  stretched — 
mouths  (women's  and  all)  closed — to  hear  Mr. 

R address  the  Senate.    Few  in  our  country 

have  ever  excited  such  universal  and  irrepressible 
curiosity  as  this  extraordinary  man.  He  could 
never  even  pass  along  the  street  without  attracting 
all  eyes.  It  has  been  said  that,  "  While  he  was  a 
bitter  opponent,  he  was  an  unserviceable  friend  ;" 
and  that,  "  with  all  his  brilliant  talents,  he  never 
made  a  proselyte  or  gained  a  vote ;"  yet  his  ap- 
pearance in  the  halls  of  legislation  ever  created  a 
murmur  of  interest.  And  as  his  tall  and  gaunt 
form  rose,  it  seemed  to  strike  his  opponents  with 
a  feeling  of  dismay,  as  if  some  being  of  a  different 
nature  had  alighted  on  the  earth  to  take  part  in  the 
battle.  On  this  day,  he  divided  the  floor  with  two 
other  speakers,  Mr.  Leslie  and  his  great  opponent 

Mr.  B .     The  former  possessed  a  heavy  and 

vehement  power,  which  struck  down  opposition 
with  the  deliberate  strength  and  self-possession  of 
a  giant ;  and  from  the  lips  of  the  latter  flowed 
persuasion  in  an  ever-deepening  stream,  bearing 
the  soul  onward  as  if  through  fairy-land.  But 

the  favourite  weapon  of  Mr.  R was  sarcasm. 

He  differed  from  Mr.  Leslie  as  Saladin  did  from 
Richard :  the  British  monarch  cleaving  a  helmet 
with  his  ponderous  blade,  while  his  agile  rival 
severed  a  piece  of  silk  with  his  sabre.  Nobody 
could  hear  the  Virginian  orator  without  being 
fascinated.  His  voice  was  of  a  feminine  sweetness 
and  pliancy,  singularly  expressive  as  he  warmed 
in  debate.  His  speech  was  full  of  classical  and 

VOL.  I. P 


170  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

poetical  imagery;  but,  in  consequence  of  his  nu- 
merous and  curious  digressions,  it  was,  at  times, 
difficult  to  determine  what  was  the  subject  of  his 
discourse.  Every  bosom,  however,  seemed  alive 
to  the  impressions  of  wonder  and  delight  which  he 
created.  Howard,  if  not  instructed,  was  at  least 
charmed.  The  orator's  exquisite  and  original  wit 
— his  strange  sweet  flow  of  poetic  thought  and  mu- 
sical language — the  matchless  beauty  of  many  pas- 
sages— his  keen  hints  and  hits — his  critiques  on 
matters  in  general ;  and,  more  than  all,  his  biting, 
withering,  and  relentless  satire  can  never  be  for- 
gotten by  those  familiar  with  him  as  a  speaker. 
That  strange  and  lofty  form — the  oft-extended  long 
finger  of  that  skeleton  hand — the  snakish  intensity 
of  those  piercing  black  eyes — the  fiendishness  of 
his  sneer — the  winning  softness  of  his  smile — the 
silver  melody  of  his  high  voice  ! — they  had  much 
to  regret  who  were  prevented  from  hearing  him 
by  the  pressure  of  the  crowd  on  that  memorable 
day.  As  he  seated  himself,  Mr.  Leslie  arose  with 
all  the  talent  of  his  predecessor,  but  much  more 
carefully  directed.  His  sole  object  at  first  to 
convince  the  reason.  He  had  the  argumentative 
power  of  the  practised  lawyer.  He  deliberately 
related  his  opinions.  He  demonstrated  it  with  the 
force  of  a  problem ;  and  only  gradually  as  he  pro- 
ceeded rose  into  a  more  elevated  strain,  and  at 
length  burst  forth  into  enthusiasm  that  fired  every 
soul.  His  subject  led  him  to  touch  upon  the  na- 
ture and  permanency  of  the  Union.  He  deepened 
into  feeling  and  poetry ;  splendid  passages  flashed 
from  him  with  fiery  vehemence,  stricken  fiercely 
out  by  conflict  with  men  who  arraigned  his  politi- 
cal opinions,  shocked  his  associations  of  country, 
and  approached,  with  the  brand  lighted  and  raised, 
to  fire  the  temple  of  American  glory.  Nothing 
could  be  more  dazzling  than  his  deep  and  strong 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  171 

pictures.  They  should  be  hung  up  before  every 
eye.  He  was  triumphant  and  irresistible.  He 
bore  down  all  before  him  :  not  only  the  heart  of 
his  auditors,  but  of  all  the  country,  of  every  lover 
of  freedom  and  humanity  throughout  the  globe, 
seemed  swelling  in  his  bosom  and  thundering 
from  his  lips.  One  might  have  imagined  that  the 
spirits  of  Washington  and  Hamilton,  of  Jefferson 
and  Franklin,  of  a  whole  crowd  of  the  departed 
heroes  and  statesmen  of  the  republic,  were  lean- 
ing from  the  walls  and  cheering  him  on.  For 
several  hours  he  calmly  and  forcibly  assailed  the 
bill  introduced  by  Mr.  B ,  which  had  occa- 
sioned so  much  excitement  in  the  public  mind.  It 
was  seen  by  the  friends  of  the  measure  that  he 
was  no  common  assailant.  His  powerful  and 
heavy  appeals  were  deeply  felt  in  the  quarter 
where  they  were  directed;  like  the  blows  of  a 
battle-axe  wielded  by  the  arm  of  a  giant,  while 
the  gates  shook  and  the  fortress  trembled  to  its 
base.  He  resembled  the  black  knight  at  the  storm- 
ing of  Front  de  Boeuf's  castle,  whose  ponderous 
and  fatal  strokes  were  heard  above  all  the  din  of 
the  battle.  At  length  he  rested — the  work  seemed 

done  ;   when    his   mortal    opponent   Mr.  B 

sprang  suddenly  on  the  floor  with  an  eagerness 
which  showed  very  plainly  that  it  was  not  done. 
The  auditors  who  had  been  sitting,  standing, 
stretching — some  hanging  by  a  toe  to  a  chair, 
some  leaning  on  a  shoulder  against  a  pillar,  sqeez- 
ing,  squeezed,  and  distorted  into  all  sorts  of  un- 
natural and  distressing  attitudes  and  situations — 

prepared  to  go.     At  the  sight  of  Mr.  B 's  tall, 

peculiar,  and  commanding  person,  at  the  sound  of 
his  low  deep  voice,  at  the  thoughts  of  his  known 
genius,  and  the  anticipation  of  the  reply  which 
appeared  to  have  been  some  time  burning  in  his 
bosom,  the  motion  of  the  crowd  was  checked. 


172  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

The  relaxed  toe  was  again  braced — the  relieved 
shoulder  again  put  in  requisition — the  fatigued  ear 
once  more  erect — the  fair  neck  stretched — the  seal 
of  silence  again  set  upon  the  pretty  mouths.  Every 
thing  again  was  still  and  unmoving.  His  qualifica- 
tions were  numerous  and  of  nearly  the  highest 
kind,  both  physical  and  mental.  A  fountain  of 
fervid  feeling  at  his  heart  enabled  him  to  inspire, 
to  enchant — threw  his  hearers  off  their  guard  by 
sudden  and  passionate  appeals  to  the  poetry  of 
their  natures — an  ever-ready  and  lavish  flow  of 
words  furnished  a  vehicle  which  never  failed.  He 
had  all  the  poetry  of  thought,  aided  by  all  the  art 
and  melody  of  language.  His  sentences  fell  on  the 
ear  and  the  heart,  at  once  gratifying  the  intellect 
and  rousing  the  soul ;  and  often,  after  a  burst  of 
eloquence,  which  rolled  over  the  heads  of  the 
crowd,  leaving  a  deep  silence,  like  that  which  sue- 
ceeds  thunder,  his  voice  was  lulled  to  a  low  sweet 
tone,  his  vehement  manner  was  softened,  and  his 
words 

"  Drew  audience  and  attention  still  as  night, 
Or  summer's  noontide  air." 

A  deep  and  powerful  voice  was  one  of  Mr. 

B 's  peculiarities.     It  was  at  times  what  opera 

goers  call  a  sweet  bass,  and  was  heard  distinctly 
in  every  modulation.  Indeed,  in  any  stranger  it 
would  have  been  by  itself  all-sufficient  to  arrest 
every  ear.  His  pronunciation  was  also  of  a  singu- 
lar kind,  and  will  never  be  forgotten  by  those  in 
whose  minds  it  was  associated  with  his  eloquence. 
His  face  and  head  were  more  peculiar  than  all. 
No  one  would  call  them  handsome.  Did  they  be- 
long to  anybody  else — to  a  lower  intellect — to  an 
obscurer  man — they  might  induce  the  opposite 
term.  But  he  who  has  stood  all  day  on  one  leg  to 
listen,  who  has  felt  his  seducing  poetry  steal  into 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  173 

the  soul,  and  his  voice  bursting  on  his  ear  like  a 
war-trumpet,  till  the  blood  now  mounted  to  the 
temple,  then  left  the  cheek  colourless,  till  the  flesh 
creeped  upon  his  shoulder,  and  the  heart  leaped  in 
his  bosom,  will  never  hear  a  pronunciation,  or  see 

a  head,  or  a  face,  or  an  expression  like  B 's 

without  peculiar  pleasure.  His  countenance  was 
rugged  and  rough-hewn.  None  of  the  smooth- 
ness of  youth,  and  health,  and  simple  content  was 
there  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  marked  with  time, 
thought,  and  care.  He  resembled  one  of  Milton's 
great  orators — 

"  Deep  on  his  front  engraven, 
Deliberation  sat  and  public  care  ; 
And  princely  counsel  in  his  face  yet  shone, 
Majestic  though  in  ruin." 

While  they  under  his  influence  confessed  he  was 
not  handsome,  they  at  the  same  time  felt  that  the 
beauty  of  Apollo  would  detract  from  his  identity, 
and  diminish  the  interest  with  which  he  was  then 
regarded.  There  were  times  when  the  expression 
of  his  face  was  nearly  savage.  His  eyes  glared 
and  flashed,  and  his  glances  fell  on  his  opponent 
with  the  fierceness  of  a  tiger. 

But  with  all  this  power  he  failed.  The  bill,  so 
heavily  opposed  by  Mr.  Leslie,  it  was  understood, 
as  subsequently  proved  the  case,  would  not  pass. 
That  day  elevated  Mordauht  Leslie  yet  higher  in 
the  public  opinion ;  advanced  him  yet  nearer  the 
ultimate  object  of  his  ambition. 

As  Howard  passed  home  from  the  inspiring  con- 
flict, he  heard  from  many  a  lip  words  of  praise 
and  prophecy  linked  with  the  name  of  the  father 
of  his  affianced  bride,  that  roused  in  his  young 
imagination  many  a  dream  of  honour  and  happi- 
ness. 

P2 


174  NORMAN   LESLSE. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  new  Link  in  the  Chain. 


;By  Astaroth  !  ere  long  thou  shall  lament 
These  braveries." 

Samson  Agomttes. 


SEVERAL  months  elapsed.  Leslie  recovered 
from  his  wounds,  but  was  still  pale,  when  acci- 
dent brought  to  his  ear  the  atrocious  slander  cir- 
culated against  him.  The  same  charge  of  gam- 
bling and  dishonesty  at  cards,  magnified  by  other 
insinuations  urged  by  Clairmont  at  Washington, 
in  the  hearing  of  Miss  Temple,  had  been  subse- 
quently reiterated,  and  at  last  began'  to  gain  credit. 
So  popular  was  the  count,  that  his  ill  word  was 
sufficient  to  inflict  a  serious  injury.  Not  that  any 
one  who  knew  Leslie  lent  it  an  ear — but  one  is  not 
known  even  by  all  one's  acquaintance  ;  and  there 
is  a  large  class  always  ready,  not  only  to  believe 
calumnies,  but  to  speed  them  on  their  way  with  a 
secret  and  eager  hand.  The  affair  burst  upon 
Leslie  suddenly.  He  happened  to  be  one  day  in 
company  with  a  number  of  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
among  whom  was  Miss  Romain.  He  had  just  in- 
vited the  young  lady  to  ride  with  him  on  the  sub- 
sequent day. 

"  Do  you  know,  Leslie,"  said  Moreland,  a  few 
moments  afterward,  "  I  this  morning  heard  of  a 
most  extraordinary  allegation  against  you  from  the 
lips  of  this  same  Miss  Romain  whom  you  are  so 
civil  to." 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  175 

"  Allegation  ! — name  it." 

Moreland  repeated,  though  rather  incoherently, 
as  he  had  not  distinctly  understood  it,  what  Miss 
Romain  was  said  to  have  spoken.  It  referred  to 
a  certain  mysterious  incident  at  cards  reported  to 
have  been  charged  upon  Mr.  Leslie,  and  never  to 
have  been  refuted,  or  even  noticed. 

"  Take  care,"  continued  Moreland, "  of  that  beau- 
tiful syren — she  is  really  dangerous ;  she  flatters 
you  in  your  presence,  and  loves  to  behold  you  in 
her  train,  but  makes  free  with  your  name  the 
moment  you  withdraw." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Norman,  gravely. 

"  It  was  my  intention,"  said  Moreland,  "  to  let 
you  know  the  moment  I  ascertained  precisely  the 
nature  of  this  report.  You  should  know  it,  not 
only  that  you  may  refute  it,  but  that  you  may 
hereafter  beware  of  her.  I  will  endeavour  to  dis- 
cover at  once  its  precise  nature." 

"  When  will  you  see  me  ?" 

"  To-morrow." 

"  This  bodes  trouble,"  said  Norman,  as  if  forget- 
ting that  he  was  not  alone. 

The  next  morning  Moreland  called  on  Leslie, 
and  made  him  acquainted  with  the  particulars  of 
the  calumny.  He  had  also  traced  it  directly  to 
Clairmont.  Miss  Romain  was  ascertained  to  have 
been  more  wantonly  mischievous  than  could  have 
been  supposed.  Whether  she  really  believed  it, 
or  whether  she  was  stung  by  jealousy  at  finding 
that  Norman  had  totally  laid  aside  the  character 
of  her  lover,  it  was  certain  that  to  the  charge  in 
question  she  had  given  a  most  marked  emphasis. 

"  And  will  you  still  ride  with  her,"  demanded 
Moreland.  "after  such  a  singular  evidence  of  her 
disposition  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Norman,  dryly — <!  I  have  already 
invited  her  to  accompany  me  this  afternoon,  and 


176  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

I  will  not  retreat.  It  is  too  tempting  an  opportu- 
nity to  let  her  know  my  surprise.  From  this  time, 
however,  she  shall  learn  how  utterly  a  friend  may 
be  thrown  away.  As  for  Clairmont,  he  is  a  scoun- 
drel ;  I  shall  publicly  chastise  him  the  instant  we 
meet.  The  thing  is  scarcely  worth  noticing,  but 
the  manner  in  which  this  man  is  received  here 
gives  his  words  an  importance  which  they  would 
not  otherwise  deserve." 

At  four  he  called  for  Miss  Remain  according  to 
appointment. 


The  next  morning  Clairmont  stood  on  the  steps 
of  his  hotel  in  Broadway,  surrounded  by  a  num- 
ber of  gentlemen.  He  was  in  a  riding-dress,  with 
whip  and  spurs  ;  and  after  a  careless  leave  of  his 
companions,  was  in  the  act  of  mounting  his  horse. 
At  that  moment  Leslie  approached,  and  the  two 
enemies  stood  face  to  face.  Clairmont  turned  a 
little  pale  upon  the  sight  of  one  he  had  so  deeply 
wronged  advancing  with  determined  step  and  air 
and  contracted  brow,  whose  meaning  could  not  be 
mistaken.  A  small  circle  of  spectators  closed  around 
them.  The  accusation  of  Clairmont  had  been  pub- 
licly made  during  Leslie's  illness,  and  his  great  skill 
with  the  pistol  was  known.  The  resolution,  the 
high-wrought  temper,  and  lofty  character  of  Leslie 
were  also  well  understood,  and  the  interview  was 
regarded  with  strong  signs  of  interest.  The  no- 
bleman paused,  with  a  glistening  eye,  and  a  shade 
of  white  increasing  on  his  lip.  Leslie's  air  was 
high  and  stern,  but  calm  and  noble.  As  the  two 
thus  stood,  their  prominent  characteristics  might  be 
detected  in  their  very  appearance:  the  one  so 
frank,  fearlessly  open-hearted,  and  yet  so  quietly 
resolved ;  the  other,  deep,  malignant,  and  danger- 
ous— the  one  frowning  with  the  fiery  firmness  of  a 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  177 

lion ;  the  spirit  of  the  other  coiled  up  with  the 
stillness  of  a  snake  which  lifts  its  crest  against  the 
foot  that  would  crush  it  in  the  grass. 

"  I  have  been  given  to  understand,"  said  Leslie, 
very  composedly,  "  that  you,  sir,  who  call  yourself 
Count  Clairmont,  have  made  use  of  certain  ex- 
pressions derogatory  to  my  character." 

"  Well,  sir." 

"  Your  silence  implies  assent.  I  give  you  one 
moment  to  deny  them — to  confess  them  wilful, 
base  falsehoods." 

",Mr.  Leslie,"  said  Clairmont,  "  if  you  are  a  gen- 
tleman you  have  a  remedy." 

"  I  have  once  told  you  the  only  terms  on  which 
I  will  consent  to  meet  you.  Though  I  believe  you 
no  gentleman,  yet  my  belief  of  your  cowardice  at 
heart  is  so  strong  that  I  again  dare  you  to  accede 
to  them.  Those  terms,  gentlemen — " 

But  the  wary  Clairmont,  with  great  cunning,  had 
already  adopted  his  plan :  it  was  his  object  to 
escape  even  hearing  terms  which  most  probably 
he  might  not  be  anxious  to  accept,  but  if  possible 
to  provoke  Leslie  to  attack  him  on  the  spot.  Ac- 
cordingly, first  placing  a  hand  in  his  bosom,  he 
interrupted  the  speaker — 

"  Mr.  Leslie,"  he  said,  "  you  desire  to  know 
whether  the  assertions  to  which  you  allude  were 
made  by  me,  and  whether  they  are  persisted  in. 
Know,  that  I  never  speak  that  in  a  man's  absence 
which  I  fear  to  repeat  in  his  presence.  I  avow, 
then,  that  I  detected  you  in  such  a  trick  at  cards 
as  ought  to,  and  must  exclude  you  for  ever  from 
the  society  of  gentlemen." 

Without  further  reply,  Leslie  stepped  forward, 
and  at  the  same  moment  produced  from  behind 
him  a  riding-whip,  with  the  evident  intention  of 
applying  it  to  immediate  use. 

Pale,  but  with  the  most  determined  and  delibe- 


178  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

rate  composure,  Clairmont  drew  forth  a  pistol, 
which  he  coolly  cocked. 

«  NO — no,  sir."  he  said,  in  a  low  tone — "  I  am  on 
my  guard  now — the  attacks  of  a  ruffian  I  am 
taught  how  to  meet.  Take  care,  sir — take  care 
— approach  me  not — one  step,  one  inch,  one  mo- 
tion, and  I  swear  by  the  God  of  heaven  I  lay  you 
dead  at  my  feet !" 

Leslie  paused — Clairmont  smiled — the  crisis 
was  interesting,  and  considerable  curiosity  pre- 
vailed to  witness  the  event.  But  the  inactivity  of 
Leslie  was  only  momentary.  With  a  leap,  swift 
as  the  tiger  when  he  darts  upon  a  startled  steed, 
he  sprang  to  the  throat  of  his  foe.  The  pistol  was 
discharged ;  but  so  rapid  and  unexpected  had  been 
the  assault,  that  the  aim,  never  before  known 
to  miss,  now  failed  at  the  moment  of  utmost 
need.  The  ball  passed  through  the  lapel  of  Nor- 
man's coat ;  and  the  baffled  possessor  of  a  now 
useless  weapon  had  thrown  away  his  sole  chance, 
and  with  it  the  sympathies  of  every  spectator. 
Unarmed — of  a  livid  whiteness — he  stood  in  mute 
and  impotent  hate  ;  first,  aghast  with  the  certainty 
that  he  had  launched  the  death-bolt,  and  afterward, 
to  find  himself  utterly  in  the  power  of  a  man  so 
deeply  resolute  and  indignant,  and  against  whom 
he  had  just  given  such  a  dire  evidence  of  malice. 

"  I  shall  now  proceed,"  said  Leslie,  without  ex- 
hibiting the  slightest  astonishment  or  alarm,  but 
layingVn  iron  hand  on  the  bosom  of  his  foe,  "  to 
inflict  upon  you,  my  friend,  the  chastisement  you  so 
richly  merit.  You  are  a  coward— you  are  an  im- 
postor— you  are  guilty  of  the  baseness  which  your 
rancorous  tongue  has  charged  on  me — you  have 
swindled  at  cards — and  you,  to  the  best  of  my  ob- 
servation, stole— stole,  Count  Clairmont,  the  valu- 
able diamond  ring  of  Miss  Morton.  Hereafter,  sir 
count,  never  show  your  face  in  the  society  of  gen- 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  179 

tlemen  ;  but,  lest  you  should,  I  mark  you  for  what 
you  are — a  craven  and  a  scoundrel !" 

He  raised  the  whip. 

"  Leslie,"  said  Clairmont,  almost  inaudibly,  "  do 
not — -do  not,  for  your  own  sake,  mark  me — I  warn 
—I  warn  you,  Leslie — do  not — " 

Rage,  fear,  and  intense  emotion  had  so  trans- 
formed his  countenance,  that,  with  his  ashy  face, 
and  a  ring  of  black  beneath  each  eye,  he  looked 
more  like  a  devil  than  a  man. 

"  Carry  your  warnings,  sir,  to  those  who  regard 
them,"  said  Leslie. 

Deliberately,  and  with  a  powerful  hold  on  his 
throat,  he  applied  the  long  whip  to  his  writhing 
and  quivering  foe  with  all  the  strength  which  his 
athletic  and  indignant  arm  could  command.  No 
one  interfered.  For  several  minutes  the  deter- 
mined youth  continued  the  application  of  his 
blows,  till,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  covered  with 
dust,  struggling,  trembling,  and  ever  and  anon 
uttering  a  half-suffocated  groan  of  anguish  and 
revenge,  his  exhausted  victim  hung,  with  drooping 
body  and  unbraced  limbs,  apparently  senseless  on 
his  arm. 

"  I  have  castigated  this  man,  gentlemen,"  said 
Leslie,  with  a  voice  actually  gentle  in  its  tone — so 
calm  is  true  passion — "  I  have  castigated  this  man 
for  no  ordinary  personal  pique,  no  mere  common 
hatred.  I  hold  him  up  to  you.  not  only  for  a  swin- 
dler and  a  scoundrel — I  have  good  reason  to  be- 
lieve him  a  midnight  assassin" 

In  the  scuffle  Glair mont's  hat  had  fallen — his 
valet  now  appearing,  picked  it  up,  and  lent  an  arm 
to  the  support  of  his  master,  who,  finding  himself 
released,  lifted  his  head,  gazed  wildly  around, 
gnashed  his  teeth,  half  incoherently  uttered, 
"  God  !  oh  God  !"  and  striking  his  face  deliriously 
with  his  hands,  rushed  mad  and  foaming  into  the 
hotel. 


180  NORMAN   LESLIE. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Plot  opens. 


"  Old  men  and  beldams,  in  the  streets 
Do  prophesy  upon  it  dangerously  ; 
Young  Arthur's  death  is  common  in  their  mouths ; 
And  when  they  talk  of  him,  they  shake  their  heads, 
And  whisper  one  another  in  the  ear : 
And  he  that  speaks  doth  gripe  the  hearer's  wrist ; 
While  he  that  hears  makes  fearful  action, 
With  wrinkled  brows,  with  nods,  with  rolling  eyes." 

King  John. 


THE  Americans  are  called  great  travellers. 
They  early  imbibe  the  taste  in  their  own  country  ; 
whose  extent  and  innumerable  beauties  may  well 
lure  mutual  visiters  from  her  remotest  parts.  At 
present,  too,  the  facilities  for  travel  afe  so  extraor- 
dinary, that  it  would  be  madness  to  stay  at  home. 
If  the  country  is  gigantic,  so  are  its  curiosities — so 
are  the  means  of  viewing  them.  The  springs,  the 
falls,  the  lakes,  the  rivers,  the  mountains,  Quebec 
and  her  fortifications  (a  tour  to  the  Canadas,  by- 
the-way,  in  the  abrupt  transition  of  manners  and 
customs,  is,  to  an  American,  very  like  a  tour  to 
Europe),  the  stupendous  mountain-scenery  in  New* 
York  and  New-England,  where  nature  may  be 
viewed  in  all  her  sublime  and  awful  grandeur. 
European  scenery  is  different  from  that  of  America, 
but  not  more  strikingly  magnificent ;  and  the  tour- 
ist of  the  Western  Continent — let  itinerant  scrib- 
blers say  what  they  will— finds  accommodations, 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  181 

honesty,  and  comfort  infinitely  superior  to 
that  met  with  on  the  great  continental  routes  of 
Europe.  In  the  commercial  cities  they  may  com- 
mand luxuries  and  refinements  equal  to  those  of 
Paris  and  London ;  railroads,  canals,  and  steam- 
boats convey  them  in  every  direction.  During  the 
months  of  August  and  September  these  tempta- 
tions are  found  irresistible  by  the  fashionable  world, 
who  take  wing  from  the  dusty  town,  and  sweep  in 
gay  flocks  through  scenery  splendid  beyond  de- 
scription. Less  than  twelve  hours  suffice  to  land 
the  passengers  at  Albany  from  New- York,  a  dis- 
tance of  one  hundred  and  sixty  miles ;  thence,  a 
succession  of  dazzling  views  attracts  each  votary 
of  health  and  pleasure :  and  when  he  has  been 
drenched  by  the  terrible  Niagara,  floated  on  the 
St.  Lawrence,  wandered  by  Lake  George,  mused 
in  the  natural  amphitheatre  of  Trenton  Falls, 
soared  to  the  Pine  Mountain  House,  on  the  Cats- 
kill — where,  from  the  edge  of  a  precipice  three 
thousand  feet  perpendicular,  he  looks  down  upon 
the  lower  earth,  hills  and  vales,  towns  and  forests, 
and  the  broad  and  glorious  Hudson,  meandering  on 
its  course  of  light  like  a  silver  snake  ; — when  these 
excursions  are  over,  the  beau  ton  and  the  beaux 
esprits  rest  their  pinions  a  few  weeks  at  the  Sara- 
toga Springs,  about  thirty-six  miles  above  Albany. 
Perhaps  there  is  no  spot  which  gathers  a  greater 
focus  of  beauty,  fashion,  wealth,  and  genius  than 
Congress  Hall. 

After  all,  the  greatest  amusement  of  those  who 
abandon  a  city  is,  to  watch  for  and  devour  every 
item  of  intelligence  from  their  deserted  homes. 

A  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  seated  on 
the  long  portico  one  day,  when  Judge  Howard  re- 
ceived a  package  of  papers. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Hamilton,  "  we  shall  hear 
from  town  again,  at  last.  They  say  Americans 

VOL.    I. — Q 


182  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

are  fond  of  news ;  I  do  not  think  it  peculiar  to 
them,  but  to  human  nature.  I  never  received  a 
letter  in  my  life  without  trembling ;  and  a  news- 
paper, when  far  from  home,  is  really  an  agitation." 

"  Let  us  share  the  benefit  of  your  courier,  judge," 
said  a  wealthy  southern  planter,  as  the  judge  un- 
folded one  of  the  sheets. 

"  Oh  dear,  yes  ;  a  newspaper  is  as  good  as  a 
play  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Morton. 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  see,  let  us  see,"  said  the  judge, 
passing  his  finger  over  his  lip  as  he  ran  through 
the  contents ;  "  we  must  select  for  the  ladies. 
Here  is  a  long  report  from  the  Secretary  of  the 
Navy." 

"Oh,  never  mind  the  navy,"  cried  Miss  Morton, 

"  Well,  then,  we  have  an  inquiry  into  the  effects 
of  the  late  rise  of  cotton." 

"  Worse  and  worse  !" 

"  Fire,  and  lives  lost ;  a  fireman  killed." 

"  Oh,  poor  fellow  !  Where  was  it  ?"  asked  a  fop, 
yawning. 

"  Nothing  about  the  theatres  ?"  demanded  Mor- 
ton. 

"  Read  the  marriages,"  said  his  sister. 

"  And  the  deaths,"  mumbled  an  old  gentleman, 
who  took  the  waters  for  his  health. 

"  Bless  me !  bless  my  soul !"  said  the  judge,  in  a 
tone  of  sudden  and  extreme  interest. 

"  Oh,  now  we  shall  have  it !"  said  several,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  out  with  it,  judge." 

"Good  Heaven  !"  exclaimed  the  kind  old  gentle- 
man, with  real  distress. 

"  Oh,  judge,  how  can  you  keep  us  all  in  the  dark, 
in  this  way  !"  said  Mrs.  Hamilton. 

The  judge  read, — 

"  '  Most  mysterious  and  terrible  incident.' " 

"  Dear  me !"  cried  one,  laughing ;  "  that  prom- 
ises well,  indeed." 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  183 

*{  I  was  fearful  the  colonel  was  going  to  be  stu- 
pid to-day,"  said  another. 

" '  Our  readers  are  perhaps  aware,'"  continued  the 
judge,  reading,  "  '  that  a  most  mysterious  circum- 
stance has,  within  three  days,  occurred  in  this  city. 
The  daughter  of  one  of  our  most  wealthy  and  re- 
spectable townsmen,  whose  name  will  probably  be 
too  soon  before  the  public,  has  suddenly  disap- 
peared, under  circumstances  of  the  most  incredible 
and  inexplicable  mystery  ;  leading  to  the  conjec- 
ture that  death  has  closed  her  career  on  earth. 
She  was  young,  of  most  excelling  beauty,  and  dis- 
tinguished in  the  higher  circles  as  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  and  charming  ladies  of  the  day.  We 
cannot  add  more  at  present.' " 

"  Well,  that  is  extraordinary  and  mysterious 
enough,"  said  one ;  "  what  can  it  mean  ?" 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?"  added  another. 

*  There  is  a  postscript,"  said  the  judge  ;  and  the 
extremes!  interest  was  now  exhibited  to  learn  if  it 
conveyed  more  information  upon  the  affair. 

"  Yes,  here  is  a  second  paragraph,"  and  he  read 
the  following : — 

"  •  Since  the  above  was  in  type,  it  has  become  our 
painful  duty  to  state,  that  the  name  of  the  young 
lady  alluded  to  above,  as  having  so  mysteriously 
disappeared,  is  Miss  Rosalie  Remain.  A  commit- 
tee of  investigation,  immediately  formed,  have  fully 
sanctioned  the  general  opinion  that  she  must  have 
been  murdered.  The  liveliest,  nay,  the  deepest 
sensation  prevails  through  all  circles  upon  this  sub- 
ject ;  which,  perhaps,  for  intense  interest,  is  without 
a  parallel  in  the  history  of  our  country  or  age. 
Dark  suspicions  are  entertained  respecting  an  indi- 
vidual attached  to  a  most  distinguished  family. 
We  withhold  the  name,  partly  because,  however 
Joud  and  deep  may  be  the  public  suspicion,  no  tri- 
bunal of  justice  has,  as  yet,  taken  any  step  to  war- 


184  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

rant  them.  Nothing  has  been  spoken  of  to-day 
but  this  most  singular  and  terrible  event.  The 
police  are  on  the  track,  and,  it  is  said,  have  made 
discoveries  of  a  most  appalling  description  ;  tend- 
ing to  confirm  the  worst  conjectures,  and  to  fix  the 
odium  on  one  wealthy,  high,  and  hitherto  unsus- 
pected. This  is  an  event  of  peculiar  interest.  Its 
awful  mystery — the  agonizing  circumstances  by 
which  it  has  been  marked — the  extreme  youth, 
beauty,  and  innocence  of  the  guileless  victim — the 
anguish  of  the  bereaved  and  broken-hearted  pa- 
rent— the  rank  of  him  to  whom  the  public  finger 
points  as  the  murderer — the  great  respect  in  which 
his  family  have  been  held — all  tend  to  create  violent 
excitement.  We  never  saw  the  public  mind  in  a 
greater  ferment.  From  the  lofty  political  standing  of 
the  father  of  the  accused  (at  least  accused  by  the 
general  voice),  in  any  other  country  he  would  pos- 
sess power  among  those  before  whom  this  question 
will  be  probably  tried ;  and  if  the  criminal  were 
guilty  beyond  a  doubt,  yet,  with  his  influence,  he 
would  find  means  to  escape.  Let  the  admiring 
world  now  look  on  the  administration  of  justice  in  a 
republic.  Let  them  see  the  laws  enforced  with 
equal  severity  and  promptitude  against  the  rich 
and  poor — the  strong  and  weak — the  high  and  low. 
We  would  not  forestall  the  opinions  of  those  who 
are  yet  undecided  what  to  think ;  nor  do  we  take 
it  upon  ourselves  to  say  that  he  who  has  been  se- 
lected as  the  perpetrator  is  really  guilty  ;  but  if  he 
be  guilty,  there  is  no  possibility  of  his  escape.  Let 
every  apprehension  be  quelled.  If  he  were  the 
head  of  our  nation,  on  this  proof  he  would  be 
tried — an  impartial  jury  would  decide  upon  his  in- 
nocence ;  and  if  a  verdict  be  pronounced  against 
him,  he  must  die  the  death  of  a  felon.' " 

The  utmost  contrariety  of  opinion  prevailed  as 
to  the  person  against  whom  these  terrible  inuendoes 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  185 

were  directed;  but  an  arrival  from  the  city  brought 
the  fearful  intelligence  in  all  its  blistering  and  naked 
details.  It  struck  the  gay  circle  with  a  feeling  of 
dismay  and  horror. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Tempest  gathers. 


"  Can  this  be  haughty  Marmion  ?" — SCOTT. 


As  the  last  peal  of  St.  Paul's  Church,  on  a  morn- 
ing in  the  early  part  of  autumn,  about  this  period 
of  our  story,  announced  the  hour  of  nine,  the  usually 
desultory  occupants  of  Broadway  and  Chatham- 
street  gradually  gave  place  to  a  more  eager  and  uni- 
form crowd  ;  and  hundreds  of  persons  appeared 
hastening  with  quickened  step  out  of  the  adjoining 
streets,  and  bending  their  course  towards  the  pretty 
and  palace-like  looking  building  which  lifted  its  white 
front  in  the  centre  of  the  Park.  Two  large  and 
sombre  structures,  on  either  side  of  the  just-men- 
tioned edifice,  obtruded  themselves  on  the  gaze ; 
and,  from  their  gloomy  appearance,  might  be  re- 
cognised at  once  as  dismal  abodes  of  guilt.  Few, 
in  a  philosophical  and  disinterested  mood,  can  be- 
hold a  prison  without  feeling  that  their  horror  of 
the  crime  yields  for  the  moment  to  compassion  for 
the  criminals :  it  is  the  dreary  tomb  of  so  many  a 
hope ;  within  its  walls  have  been  endured  such 
nameless  and  unimaginable  anguish.  The  enlight- 
ened tenderness  of  modern  legislation  prohibits  the 
wheel,  the  rack,  or  death  in  darkness  and  solitude, 
by  the  cord,  the  axe,  the  dagger,  or  the  bowl ;  yet 
Q  2 


186  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

here  the  wretched,  whose  guilt  is  sometimes  the 
infirmity  of  nature,  and  sometimes  the  error  of  ed- 
ucation, have  writhed  under  the  prolonged  torments 
of  remorse  and  fear :  and  what  are  the  axe  and 
the  wheel  to  them  ?  The  massy  portals,  too,  may — 
nay»  when  we  consider  the  mischances  of  human 
affairs,  must  have  sometimes  closed  upon  the  in- 
nocent, and  returned  them  to  the  scaffold,  or  dis- 
gorged them  upon  a  world  whose  unthinking  self- 
ishness as  often  pursues  unfortunate  virtue,  as  it 
sanctions  for  a  time  the  triumphs  of  successful 
guilt.  Even  the  sight  of  vice  itself,  thus  baffled  and 
chained,  without  the  support  of  hope  or  the  conso- 
lations of  conscience,  shrinking  from  the  aspect  of 
an  external  world,  all  threatening  and  dark,  to  the 
communion  of  a  heart  lost  in  the  turbulence  of  yet 
more  gloomy  horror,  and  awaiting,  in  impotent  and 
illimitable  despair,  its  dismissal  from  a  dreadful  ex- 
istence to  a  state  yet  more  thrillingly  appalling,  is, 
perhaps,  of  all  spectacles  the  most  fearful  and 
ghastly. 

The  black  and  revolting  buildings,  so  conspicu- 
ously placed  in  the  heart  and  gay  centre  of  the 
city,  had  long  jarred  upon  the  minds  of  the  inhab- 
itants ;  and  one,  indeed,  at  the  present  day,  under 
the  wand  of  some  cunning  architect,  has  assumed  a 
more  lively  and  lovely  shape,  and  been  converted 
to  other  purposes ;  but  at  the  time  of  which  we    ; 
write,  the  authorities  found  a  certain  appropriate-    \ 
ness  in  their  pr&ximity  to  their  graceful  neighbour,    in 
The  latter  is  familiar  to  the  New-York  reader  as  j 
the  City  Hall,  the  seat  of  many  public  offices,  but  f 
particularly  of  the  courts  of  justice  ;  and  at  that 
time  both  the  civil  and  criminal  courts  were  held 
within  it.     The   black  and  ugly  buildings  which 
flanked  it  on  either  side  were  used,  the  one  for  a 
jail,  where,  with  the  stupid  and  useless  cruelty  of  a 
pagan  sacrifice,  the  unfortunate  debtor  was  con- 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  187 

demned  to  perpetual  idleness  and  Wo  ;  while  that 
one  on  the  west  received  the  criminals  against  the 
State,  who  there  awaited  their  arraignment  or  their 
execution,  within  a  minute's  walk  of  their  place  of 
trial. 

On  the  present  day,  the  avidity  with  which  all 
classes  hastened  towards  the  City  Hall  rendered 
it  evident  that  it  was  about  to  become  the  scene  of 
some  interesting  judicial  proceeding ;  and  the 
pressure  to  procure  seats  in  the  criminal  court- 
room proved  that  the  circumstances  of  some  dark 
crime  were  about  to  be  investigated ;  probably 
some  reckless  enemy  to  society  exposed  to  general 
execration,  and  consigned  to  just  punishment,  per- 
haps a  weary  and  toilsome  imprisonment — perhaps 
to  death.  It  has  been  long  a  custom  in  America, 
as  in  England,  to  conduct  the  convict  condemned 
to  expiate  his  crime  on  the  scaffold,  in  broad  day- 
light, and  in  full  view  of  the  people,  to  some  open 
spot  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town,  affording  space 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  immense  multitude 
generally  drawn  together  by  the  occasion ;  and 
thus,  with  the  deliberate  pomp  of  law,  and  the 
solemn  ceremonies  of  religion,  to  consummate  upon 
the  bound  and  trembling  wretch  the  tremendous 
doom.  After  all,  the  spirit  which  drew  the  Ro- 
mans to  the  amphitheatre  still  holds  its  place  in  the 
human  breast.  Far,  very  far,  are  we  yet  from 
true  civilization. 

Few  crimes  in  the  United  States  are  visited  with 
the  punishment  of  death ;  and,  while  older  nations 
often  launch  the  bolt  against  the  feeble  head  of  ig- 
norance or  poverty  for  the  most  trivial  errors  of 
judgment,  or  sometimes  for  the  cravings  of  hunger, 
let  it  be  recorded  to  the  honour  of  American  legis- 
lators, that  the  power  which  society  has  lodged  in 
their  hands  is  wielded  with  more  caution. 

But  in  proportion  to  the  infrequency  of  these 


188  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

spectacles  is  the  excitement  they  produce.  The 
guilty  wretch,  arrested  on  a  charge  of  murder,  and 
thrown  into  prison  to  await  his  trial,  becomes  at 
once  a  topic  of  universal  and,  among  the  lower 
orders,  of  intense  interest.  To  feed  this  appetite 
for  scenes  of  carnage,  blood,  and  distress — the  pe- 
culiar attribute  of  human  nature — the  public  press 
is  prolific  of  facts,  true  or  false;  and  in  all  their  har- 
rowing features,  and  too  often  with  the  exaggera- 
tion of  accident,  prejudice,  or  passion,  retail  the  in- 
cidents of  the  deed,  and  conjecture  the  motives  of 
the  perpetrator. 

It  was  on  the  event  of  one  of  these  long-ex- 
pected trials  that  an  immense  crowd  assembled. 
Such  violent  anxiety  had  been  produced  by  ru- 
mour, and  the  recitals  of  the  public  journals,  that 
before  the  doors  of  the  court-room  were  thrown 
open,  large  throngs  had  collected  on  the  outside, 
and,  pressing  for  entrance,  filled  the  avenues  and 
corridors  to  overflowing.  At  an  early  hour,  when 
the  public  were  admitted,  the  spacious  chamber 
was  immediately  crowded  almost  to  suffocation. 
The  space  within  the  bar,  usually  allotted  only  to 
gentlemen  of  the  profession,  witnesses,  jurors  in  at- 
tendance, and  persons  connected  with  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  hour,  was  also  densely  filled ;  and 
when  the  judges  assumed  their  seats,  and  the  cry 
of  "  Silence — hats  off!"  announced  that  the  ^court 
were  about  to  enter  upon  the  interesting  examina- 
tion, the  multitude  presented  a  slope  of  heads,  back 
to  the  farthest  reach  of  the  ample  hall,  such  as  had 
rarely  before  been  assembled  in  the  apartment. 

Among  the  individuals  within  the  bar  were  sev- 
eral who  drew  peculiar  attention  and  remark  from 
the  auditory.  The  entrance  of  Mr.  Barton,  the 
district  attorney,  occasioned  some  interest.  He 
was  a  young  but  distinguished  and  eloquent  man, 
celebrated  for  the  force  and  fire  of  his  appeals,  and 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  189 


whose  powers  were  said  to  be  rarely  awakened  in 
vain.  With  him  came  his  associate,  Mr.  Germain, 
also  a  profound,  sagacious,  and  eminent  counsellor, 
employed,  it  was  said,  by  those  whom  the  prisoner's 
crime  had  most  bereaved,  to  render  his  destruction 
doubly  sure.  A  more  dangerous  opponent  could 
scarcely  have  appeared  against  the  unhappy  object 
of  all  this  solicitude  ;  for,  a  shrewd  and  practised 
lawyer,  watchful  to  avail  himself  of  every  accident 
and  subterfuge,  skilful  to  lead  away  attention  from 
a  bad  point,  or  to  invent  a  construction  favourable 
to  his  views — of  a  deep  foresight,  an  insidious  cun- 
ning, a  ready  wit,  and  a  presence  of  mind  never  at 
fault  in  the  examination  of  witnesses — Germain 
knew  well  how  to  rise  from  a  defeat  or  to  press 
the  moment  of  triumph.  In  a  just  cause,  his  talents 
and  acquirements  were  always  sure  of  delighting. 
The  wily  votary  of  falsehood,  on  the  witness'  stand, 
found  his  mask  torn  off,  and  his  arts  baffled.  Be- 
trayed by  ingenious  artifices  into  the  disproval  of 
his  own  testimony,  and  bewildered  and  startled  by 
the  clashing  contradictions  of  his  own  statement, 
he  at  length  yielded  the  conflict,  abashed  and  in 
despair ;  confessed  the  truth,  and  was  dismissed, 
writhing  under  the  lash  of  ridicule  and  rebuke. 

But  the  same  power,  exerted  on  the  wrong  side, 
was  equally  fierce,  watchful,  and  uncompromising  ; 
and  it  must  be  allowed  that  the  eager  lawyer,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  excitement  of  his  cause,  did  not 
always  stop  to  inquire  into  its  justice,  but  used  the 
same  weapons  alike  on  all  occasions ;  bewildered 
the  honest  witness  in  wiles  laid  for  the  deceitful, 
and  frequently  woke  all  his  energies  to  attack  the 
innocent  or  defend  the  guilty.  By  their  side  sat 
Mr.  Loring,  also  one  of  the  most  remarkable  coun- 
sellors of  the  day  ;  grave,  learned,  and  eloquent ; 
his  fine  head,  partly  bald,  was  expressively  clothed 
with  the  "  silver  livery  of  advised  age."  He  was 
the  only  one  who  as  yet  appeared  for  the  defence. 


180  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

The  three  counsel  conversed  together  across  the 
table  with  the  cool  courtesy  of  the  profession ; 
who,  while  property,  reputation,  and  life  are  com- 
mitted to  their  hands  with  trembling  solicitude,  find 
the  exercise  of  their  respective  powers  but  the 
struggle  of  a  game  which,  however  tremendously 
important  to  the  parties  concerned,  is  by  them 
played  with  but  transient  personal  feeling,  and  to- 
morrow forgotten. 

A  gentleman  of  prepossessing  form  and  appear- 
ance was  pointed  out  to  each  other  by  the  crowd, 
with  symptoms  of  curiosity,  as  a  foreigner  of  high 
rank  and  unbounded  wealth  ;  a  casual  vislter  to  this 
country,  whom  accident  had  rendered  necessary 
in  the  present  case  as  one  of  the  witnesses.  This 
was  Count  Clairmont.  Near  him,  and  frequently 
exchanging  the  sentiments  of  a  brief  conversation, 
sat  a  white-headed  old  man,  whose  care-worn  and 
grief-stricken  countenance  was  perused  by  every 
eye  with  extreme  interest :  he  was  the  father  of 
the  young  and  lovely  girl  whose  murder,  by  a 
brutal  and  unparalleled  assassin,  was  the  subject  of 
the  present  indictment.  The  hearts  of  the  more 
enlightened  upon  the  circumstances  of  the  case 
were  shocked  and  agitated  with  deep  and  powerful 
sympathy  on  recognising,  in  the  tall  and  noble 
figure  of  a  gentleman — who,  though  somewhat  ad- 
vanced in  life,  was  erect,  and  almost  haughty  in  his 
air — the  father  of  the  culprit.  He  stood  in  a  recess 
within  the  bar,  calm,  but  pale ;  and  around  him 
waited,  with  the  most  evident  marks  of  respect  and 
commiseration,  a  train  of  the  most  wealthy  and 
distinguished  inhabitants  of  the  town.  These  in- 
teresting objects  had  places  reserved  for  them  in 
the  midst  of  the  uncommon  throng  of  miscellane- 
ous individuals — lawyers  lounging  from  idleness 
and  curiosity,  witnesses  and  jurors  attending  on 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  191 

subpoBnas,  and  law-students  inured  to  scenes  of 
iniquity  and  distress,  who  made  themselves  merry 
with  the  various  rumours  of  the  case,  wagered 
with  each  other  on  the  fate  of  the  accused,  and  ad- 
vanced jests  against  the  sheriff  on  his  approaching 
duty. 

The  outside  of  the  bar  was  occupied  by  the 
middling  classes, — sailors,  butchers,  bakers,  and 
other  honest  tradesmen  and  good  citizens,  whose 
minds  had  been  highly  inflamed  by  the  reports  of 
the  case,  without  being  muqh  instructed  as  to  its 
merits ;  and  who  were  eagerly  anxious  to  behold 
the  extraordinary  ruffian — the  cold-blooded  se- 
ducer and  assassin  of  an  innocent  and  beautiful  girl. 
Concerning  the  manners  and  appearance,  the  char- 
acter, family,  and  demeanour  of  the  accused,  the 
most  contradictory  rumours  were  rife.  Some  de- 
clared him  a  ferocious  and  black-browed  giant, 
with  a  cruel  and  malignant  countenance,  a  harsh 
voice,  and  relentless  heart.  Others  asserted  that 
he  had  been  the  most  reckless  profligate  of  the  day ; 
that  the  influence  of  a  wealthy  family  had  already 
several  times  screened  him  from  merited  punish- 
ment ;  that  he  had  once  or  twice  nearly  effected  his 
escape,  by  the  attempted  massacre  of  the  officers 
who  had  arrested  him ;  and  that  the  authorities 
were  obliged  to  secure  his  confinement  by  means 
of  heavy  irons. 

A  circumstance  was  observed,  too,  of  a  very  rare 
occurrence  in  this  country — a  disposition  among  the 
lower  classes  to  predetermine  the  guilt  of  the  ac- 
cused, and  to  distrust  the  integrity  of  the  court. 
Several  journals  had  given  publicity  to  articles 
darkly  intimating  the  difficulty  of  finding  a  jury 
sufficiently  firm  and  disinterested  to  render  a  true 
verdict  against  a  man  acknowledged  to  belong  to 
so  high  a  circle  of  society.  Some  spoke  aloud  of 
the  power  of  wealth  and  influence ;  others  turned 


192  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

the  affair  into  a  political  question ;  and  many  (for 
such  clamorous  demagogues  did  not  pass  away 
with  the  days  of  Greece  and  Rome)  openly  pro- 
claimed that,  even  if  the  guilty  wretch  were  con- 
demned by  the  judge,  he  would  be  pardoned  by  the 
governor.  As  the  trial-day  approached,  these  dis- 
turbing influences  seemed  agitated  and  fomented 
by  some  secret  hand.  Singular  inuendoes  lurked 
iti  the  paragraphs  of  the  daily  journals,  engender- 
ing among  the  population  a  fierce  and  ferocious 
spirit.  The  friends  of  the  prisoner  beheld,  with 
feelings  of  the  deepest  alarm,  these  clouds  gather- 
ing around  the  head  of  one  who  had  hitherto  known 
only  the  balmy  pleasures  of  life's  sunniest  hours. 
The  district  attorney  had  moved  in  the  same  circle 
with  the  accused  in  the  gay  precincts  of  fashion. 
Would  he  follow  to  the  death  his  associate  ?  The 
very  judge  on  the  bench,  it  was  whispered,  loved 
him  like  a  father,  and  was  endeared  to  him  by  fam- 
ily relations  of  the  most  tender  nature.  Would  he 
too — thus  murmured  the  thousands,  nay,  the  mil- 
lions (for  the  event  had  already  swept  like  fire  in 
the  wind),  who  allowed  themselves  to  be  excited  by 
the  absorbing  question — would  this  judge,  could 
he  preside  at  a  trial,  thus  linked  with  his  own  feel- 
ings, with  cool  and  impartial  deliberation? 

There  were  not  wanting  third  and  fourth  rate 
journals  which  grasped  the  subject  with  the  sole 
view  of  rendering  it  a  party  question.  The  father 
of  the  unhappy  criminal  was  spoken  of  at  the  period 
for  an  important  office  in  the  gift  of  the  people. 
So  tempting  an  engine  could  not  remain  unworked, 
and  the  astounded  statesman  heard  denunciations 
and  anathemas  of  the  most  bitter  malignity  thun- 
dered against  him  by  those  who  could  oppose  his 
political  success  with  no  other  means  than  those 
furnished  by  this  domestic  tragedy. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  party  of  his  townsmen,  and 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  193 

indeed  the  most  discreet  and  intelligent,  while  they 
regarded  the  indictment  with  wonder,  seemed  as- 
sured that  a  trial  would  establish  the  innocence  of 
the  accused.  All  their  sympathies  and  their  fears 
were  now  awakened  in  his  behalf,  for  the  public 
excitement  grew  more  and  more  dark  and  threat- 
ening, and  a  trial  for  life  and  death,  even  to  the 
innocent,  was  not  without  its  perils.  Accident 
might  incline  the  scales  against  him.  The  very 
trial  itself  was  a  withering  anguish ;  the  very 
suspicion  a  gangrene  to  the  heart. 

The  public  indignation  and  expressions  of  dis- 
trust exercised  too  upon  the  interests  of  the  un- 
happy defendant  a  most  unfavourable  influence. 
Those  who  really  knew  Judge  Howard,  knew  that 
if  it  had  been  his  own  son  instead  of  his  friend's,  he 
would  construe  the  law,  and  preside  at  the  trial, 
with  the  sternness  of  a  Roman ;  and  it  was  feared 
that  he,  as  well  as  the  district-attorney,  might  be 
insensibly  led,  by  the  open  charges  against  their 
integrity,  to  pass  to  the  opposite  extreme,  and 
suffer  impartiality  to  strengthen  into  severity. 

In  the  thousands  that  filled  the  room— stood 
waiting  on  the  outside  and  strove  vainly  for  en- 
trance— what  a  variety  of  opposite  emotions  !  from 
the  simple  curiosity  of  the  indifferent  stranger, 
stimulated  by  the  mere  desire  to  behold  a  human 
being  tried  for  his  life,  to  the  astonishment  and 
anxiety,  the  conjectures  of  the  future  and  the 
memories  of  the  past,  felt  by  his  acquaintance,  and 
to  the  whirl  and  tempest,  the  anguish  and  agony, 
in  the  breasts  of  those  who  knew  and  loved  him  ! 
Across  the  minds  even  of  the  most  rational  glanced 
the  thought — "  Is  not  the  prisoner  indeed  guilty  ?" 
The  very  apparent  impossibility,  by  a  kind  of  pa- 
radox, rendered  it  probable.  What  but  the  glaring 
and  blistering  truth  of  the  charge  would  select 
him,  so  far  beyond  the  reach  of  ordinary  suspicion, 

VOL.  I. — R 


194  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

as  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed  ?  If  not  he,  who  was 
the  culprit  ? 

Notwithstanding  the  immense  pressure,  perfect 
order  prevailed,  and  all  seemed  settling  themselves 
in  their  places,  as  they  best  might,  like  the  audi- 
ence at  the  commencement  of  a  celebrated  tragedy, 
and  with  the  composed  satisfaction  of  listening  to 
the  investigation,  and  perhaps  of  soon  beholding 
the  doom,  of  one  of  the  most  black,  remarkable, 
and  harrowing  crimes  that  had  ever  occupied  the 
attention  of  a  court  of  justice. 

"  Place  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  !"  exclaimed  the 
crier,  in  a  loud  voice,  at  an  order  from  the  judge. 

There  was  an  instantaneous  sensation  percepti- 
ble through  the  mass  of  people,  but  it  immediately 
subsided  into  a  breathless  silence,  as  the  side-doors 
within  the  bar  were  flung  open,  and  the  officers 
entered  in  front  of  the  crowd  with  the  prisoner  be- 
tween them.  An  impulse  of  surprise  ran  again 
through  the  multitude,  now  also  accompanied  by 
an  evident  murmur  of  sympathy,  elicited  by  the 
appearance  of  a  very  handsome  young  man,  con- 
siderably above  the  middling  size,  of  an  erect  and 
commanding  form,  who,  with  a  firm  and  rather 
haughty  air,  walked  to  his  seat  within  the  prisoner's 
box.  A  single  glance  discovered  that  he  wore  the 
dress  and  possessed  the  manners  of  a  gentleman; 
that  his  features  were  mild,  intelligent,  and  uncom- 
monly prepossessing,  but  that  his  face  was  of  a 
deadly  paleness,  and  his  lips  compressed  with  the 
action  of  one  who  is  the  victim  of  a  powerful  and 
unnatural  excitement. 

To  many  of  the  spectators  he  was  personally 
known;  and  more  than  one  voice  murmured,  in 
tones  of  the  deepest  commiseration,  "  Poor,  poor 
Leslie  !" 

On  entering  the  box  and  seating  himself,  the 
prisoner  looked  around,  and  continued  his  gaze,  as 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  195 

if  in  search  of  some  one  within  the  bar,  till  he  en- 
countered the  full  and  terrible  glance  of  Mr.  Ro- 
main,  the  father  of  her  of  whose  death  he  was  ac- 
cused. For  a  moment  he  met  and  returned  the 
fixed  gaze  of  the  old  man,  who  actually  shook  with 
the  tremours  of  his  increasing  emotion  ;  but,  as  if 
the  forced  effort  to  bear  up  against  his  fate  and  his 
feelings  exceeded  his  power,  the  unhappy  youth 
suddenly  bowed  down  his  head,  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

The  whole  scene  had  been  of  such  absorbing  in- 
terest, that  the  court,  as  well  as  the  prisoner  and 
the  spectators,  appeared  for  the  moment  to  have 
abandoned  themselves  to  their  feelings,  and  the 
young  man  was  the  centre  of  a  thousand  warm 
and  bleeding  sympathies.  But  the  recollection  of 
the  heinous  deed  which  he  was  called  upon  to  an- 
swer, and  the  sight  of  the  aged  father  of  the  mur- 
dered girl,  awoke  sterner  thoughts.  Nor  were 
there  wanting  some  who  ascribed  his  emotion,  not 
to  the  anguish  of  innocence,  but  to  the  remorseful 
agonies  of  guilt. 

The  court  immediately  ordered  silence.  The 
voice  of  the  crier  resounded  through  the  hall. 
The  crowd  again  arranged  themselves  on  their 
seats ;  and  though  a  few  handkerchiefs,  especi- 
ally of  females,  still  hid  the  faces  of  the  softened 
owners,  the  cold  ceremonials  of  a  legal  tribunal  at 
once  resumed  their  course. 

With  the  numerous  and  tedious  formalities  pre- 
liminary to  a  great  trial,  incidental  to  the  empan- 
nelling  of  a  jury,  &c.,  we  will  not  detain  the  reader. 
They  were,  on  this  occasion,  so  multifarious  and 
prolonged  that,  upon  their  final  arrangement,  the 
court  dismissed  the  cause  for  the  day,  in  order  that 
it  might  be  fairly  commenced  on  the  succeeding 
morning.  The  persons  concerned  were  requested 
to  be  punctual  in  an  early  attendance ;  and  the 


196  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

vast  and  heterogeneous  crowd  separated,  to  carry 
into  all  quarters  of  the  town  their  new  impres- 
sions concerning  the  appearance  of  the  unhappy 
prisoner,  who,  thus  fearfully  suspended  over  eter- 
nity, was  remanded  back  to  prison. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Adversity  acquaints  a  Man  with  strange  Fellows — A  Friend 
wavers. 


"  And  you,  too,  Brutus  !" 


THE  Bridewell,  in  which  malefactors  were  con- 
fined, from  its  open  and  central  situation,  com- 
manded one  of  the  most  cheerful  scenes  imagina- 
ble. The  barred  windows  of  the  prisoners  enabled 
them  to  behold  the  pleasing  enclosure  already  men- 
tioned, spread  verdantly  beneath  them,  overshad- 
owed with  rows  of  trees — a  common  thoroughfare 
for  the  busy  citizens,  a  lounge  for  the  meditative 
or  the  idle,  and  a  resort  for  children,  who  there 
pursued  their  careless  sports,  yet  happily  ignorant 
of  the  dark  world  around  them.  A  part  of  the 
gay  and  elegant  Broadway  rolled  along  its  never- 
ceasing  tide  of  human  beings.  The  spire  of  St. 
Paul's  Church  appeared  at  a  short  distance  above 
clumps  of  thick  foliage  ;  and,  on  the  other  side,  to 
the  poor  captives  a  shocking  contrast,  rose  the 
theatre,  whose  moving  crowds  and  bright  lights 
in  the  evening  rendered  it  easily  distinguishable 
as  the  haunt  of  fashion  and  pleasure. 

One  of  those  reverses  of  fortune  which,  however 
astounding  to  the  individual  victims,  are  common- 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  197 

place  to  the  general  observer  of  human  nature, 
had  plunged  Norman  Leslie — the  proud,  the  sen- 
timental, the  musing,  the  noble  Leslie — into  the 
common  prison,  upon  a  charge  of  murder.  The 
crime  was  fixed  upon  him  by  such  a  concurrence 
of  glaring  and  extraordinary  facts,  that  each  day 
had  found  more  and  more  people  ready  to  believe 
him  guilty.  Had  any  one  in  other  times  suggested 
the  probability  of  his  committing  such  a  deed,  they 
who  knew  him  would  have  ascribed  the  suggestion 
to  madness  or  malice ;  but  now  that  he  was  actu- 
ally accused  in  public,  it  appeared  much  less  im- 
probable. His  high  temper,  his  brooding  mind, 
were  well  known.  Eccentricities  had  been  re- 
membered of  him,  which  before  had  never  excited 
attention ;  and  even  those  who  had  most  depended 
upon  his  purity  of  character,  now  found  in  him  a 
new  illustration  of  the  truth,  that  "  It  is  not  a  year 
or  so  that  shows  a  man."  Covered  with  obloquy, 
execrated  by  the  public,  Norman  Leslie  sat  in  a 
lonely  apartment  of  the  prison  above  described, 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  his  arraignment, 
gazing  upon  the  outward  scene  of  joy  and  freedom. 
His  meditations  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  the 
clash  and  clank  of  chains,  the  springing  of  locks, 
and  the  withdrawal  of  bolts.  The  intruder  was 
the  keeper. 

"  There  has  been  here,"  he  said,  "  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Harcourt,  sir ;  and  he  requested  me  to — to — " 

"  I  do  not  know  him,"  said  Norman  ;  "  it  must 
be  a  mistake." 

"  No  mistake  at  all,  sir.  He  came  to  request 
your  leave  to  visit  you,  to  converse  with  you." 

"  With  me !"  said  Norman,  as  if  endeavouring  to 
recollect  himself;  "upon  what  subject?" 

"  Lord,  lord,  sir !"  said  the  man,  apparently  un- 
able to  conceal  a  smile,  "  I  thought  by  this  time 

R2 


198  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

you  might  wish  to  see  gentlemen  of  his  cloth  with- 
out any  request  from  them." 

"  God  of  heaven !"  cried  Leslie,  starting  up,  so 
that  the  man  stepped  back  in  some  alarm,  and 
lifted  his  heavy  bunch  of  keys  in  defence  ;  but, 
perceiving  that  the  abrupt  action  of  his  prisoner 
was  simply  the  effect  of  agitation  and  astonish- 
ment, he  resumed  his  first  manner. 

"  Why,  yes,  sir.  He  bade  me  ask  you,  in  short, 
if  you  felt  yourself  in  a  state  of  mind  to  speak 
with  him  upon  your  situation." 

The  rattling  of  the  heavy  chain  appropriately 
hung  at  the  outer  door  of  the  prison,  to  signify  to 
the  keeper  the  wish  of  some  applicant  for  admis- 
sion, broke  off  the  discourse. 

The  new  comer  was  Mr.  Grey,  a  counsellor,  be- 
longing to  the  lower  ranks  of  the  profession.  He 
motioned  the  keeper  to  withdraw.  When  they 
were  alone,  he  approached  his  seat  close  to  that  of 
Norman,  and  looking  around  cautiously,  said, — 

"  You  do  not  know  me,  Mr.  Leslie  ?" 

"  I  have  had  the  pleasure,  I  think,"  replied  Nor- 
man, "of  seeing  you  before  in  the  courts.  You 
are  Mr.  Grey  ?" 

"  Ah  !  that  is  well ;  if  you  know  me,"  said  Mr. 
Grey  ;  "  we  shall  have  less  difficulty  in  coming  to 
an  understanding." 

He  passed  the  palm  of  his  hand  across  his 
mouth,  as  if  preparing  to  open  a  discourse  in  the 
commencement  of  which  he  experienced  some 
embarrassment. 

"  You  are  aware,  then,  Mr.  Leslie,  that  you  stand 
indicted  for — " 

The  listener  raised  his  hand  with  deprecatory 
gesture — 

"Spare  me  the  repetition  of  that  word." 

"  But  you  are  not  fully  aware  of  the  evidence 
accumulated  against  you." 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  199 

"  I  shall  learn  it  soon  enough,"  said  the  youth, 
bitterly. 

"  You  do  not  quite  understand  me,"  continued 
the  lawyer,  in  a  conciliatory  tone  ;  "soon  enough 
can  only  be  in  time  to  counteract  it." 

"  I  am  in  the  hands  of  God,"  said  Norman,  with 
a  look  that  betrayed  a  heart  sick  and  wearied — 
"  He  created — he  can  destroy — he  can  rescue 
me." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  answered  Mr.  Grey,  hitching  his  chair 
yet  a  few  inches  closer,  again  looking  round,  as  if 
to  assure  himself  that  they  were  alone,  and  re- 
ducing his  tone  to  a  yet  more  confidential  key — 
"  but  Providence,  my  young  friend,  works  by  hu- 
man means.  It  would  be  rather  dangerous  to  trust 
to  Him  alone  in  your  case.  You  must  have  an- 
other lawyer.  His  aid  may  be  invoked,  but  it 
must  be  by  active  exertion,  not  by  idle  prayers." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  asked  the  prisoner,  with 
moody  calmness;  "  I  am  a  prisoner;  I  cannot  break 
through  stone  walls  and  iron  bars." 

"  There  is  one  thing  which  you  can  do,"  cried 
the  lawyer. 

"  To  free  me  from  this  dilemma?"  said  Norman. 

"Ay,  to  put  you  forth  as  unrestrained  as  the 
bird  that  flies  at  will." 

"What  can  I  do?" 

"  You  can  confess"  said  Grey,  in  a  close  whisper. 

Norman  started  again,  with  lively  signs  of  agita- 
tion and  anger. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  believe  me 
guilty  ?"  he  demanded. 

"  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  what  you  say 
to  me  is  secret  as  if  whispered  only  to  your  own 
heart.  I  am  not  here  to  accuse,  but  to  defend  you. 
Confess  to  me  as  your  lawyer,  as  your  friend,  that 
in  a  moment  of  wild  delirium,  perhaps  maddened 
by  wine,  you  perpetrated  a  deed  foreign  from 


200  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

your  nature,  which  the  moment  before  you  did  not 
dream  of,  and  which  now  you  cannot  look  back 
upon  without  regret  and  horror.  It  will  contribute 
greatly  towards  your  defence.  It  may  save  your 
life,  my  young  friend,  which  now  stands  in  immi- 
nent danger." 

"  And  what  good  can  my  confession  do  ?"  asked 
Norman,  in  an  under-tone  of  forced  composure. 

"  Much,  much,"  cried  the  wily  lawyer.  "  The 
sailor  who  would  navigate  a  dangerous  sea  must 
know  the  quicksands  and  rocks  which  lie  in  his 
path.  To  cure  a  wound — and  the  more  loathsome, 
the  more  need  of  examination— it  must  be  probed, 
young  man,  with  a  firm  and  friendly  hand,  though 
you  shudder  and  faint  under  the  operation.  I  am 
your  friend,  your  pilot,  your  surgeon.  I  come  to 
save  you.  Say  you  are  guilty.  The  law  has  its 
accidents,  its  shifts,  its  subterfuges ;  the  clerk's  pen 
may  mistake ;  the  jury's  mind  may  be  embarrassed, 
if  it  cannot  be  satisfied.  Embarrassment  is  doubt, 
and  doubt  is  acquittal.  You  are  young,  life  is 
sweet;  sweeter  than  wealth,  power,  reputation. 
You  have  been  under  the  influence  of  a  moment's 
temptation;  you  have  been  touched  with  lunacy; 
you  have  committed  a  crime.  Well,  thousands  of 

?>od  men  have  sinned ;  it  is  the  lot  of  mortals, 
ou  are  but  a  boy  yet.  You  must  live  and  repent. 
The  world  is  broad.  Time  heals  every  wound ; 
and  repentance  converts  even  sin  into  joy.  Dis- 
miss romantic  sensibility.  Perhaps  you  have  re- 
solved to  abandon  the  world,  either  guilty  or  inno- 
cent. If  guilty,  you  imagine  death  alone  can  ex- 
piate your  deed  ;  if  innocent,  calumny  and  unjust 
accusation  have  at  once  stripped  life  of  its  charms 
and  death  of  its  terrors.  Think  better  of  it.  Let 
not  the  idea  of  guilt  prostrate  your  moral  char- 
acter too  much.  It  is  a  physical  thing,  and  de- 
pends on  the  nerves  and  the  blood.  Any  man, 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  201 

when  the  lightning  of  passion  darts  through  his 
veins,  and  when  reason  reels — any  man  may  yield. 
The  very  apostle  sinned.  The  saints  in  heaven 
have  felt  the  pollution  of  this  earthly  evil.  It  is  a 
fever,  a  plague  ;  the  best  of  us  may  catch  it. 
Come,  confess  without  shame  the  whole  truth. 
Your  life,  your  reputation  commit  to  my  hand. 
Your  father's  life,  your  sister's,  their  happiness, 
their  fame,  are  all  connected  with  your  fate.  You 
have  no  right  to  yield  to  an  unmanly  despair.  In 
the  sacrifice  of  yourself,  you  drag  others  with  you 
to  the  altar." 

Norman  heard  him  to  the  end,  as  if  partly  with 
wonder  at  the  terror  of  his  discourse,  and  partly 
with  a  resolution  not  to  interrupt  him  ;  at  length  he 
said, — 

"  And  if  I  do  confess  that  I  deliberately  mur- 
dered that  unfortunate  girl,  goaded  by  interest  and 
revenge,  can  you  save  me  ?" 

"  While  there's  life  there's  hope,"  said  the 
lawyer.  "  You  have  money.  Money  is  a  god.  It 
commands  the  strength,  the  genius,  the  knowledge, 
the  souls  of  men." 

"  And  how  may  money  stead  me  in  this  ex- 
tremity?" 

"  It  is  to  be  considered,"  replied  the  lawyer — 
"  it  is  to  be  considered.  Have  you  never  a  friend, 
bound  to  you  by  obligations,  poor  and  needy,  yet 
honest  in  the  world's  eyes,  who  could  confirm  a 
story  on  oath?" 

Mr.  Grey  smiled,  meaningly,  and  rubbed  his 
palm  over  his  mouth  and  cheek. 

"  As  you  say,"  replied  Norman,  "  1  have  money; 
but  if  I  procure  such  a  one,  can  you  use  him  to 
your  purpose  ?  Can  you  bend  aside  the  flow  of 
public  justice  ?  Can  you  leave  the  blood  of  the 
innocent  unavenged  ?  Can  you  set  the  guilty 
free,  unannealed,  and  high  among  his  friends  ?  If 


202  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

I  give  you  money  for  this  redemption  from  wo, 
ignominy,  and  the  scaffold,  can  you  effect  it  ?" 

"  Can  I  ?"  said  the  counsellor,  with  slow  and  em- 
phatic deliberation,  and  a  glance  of  pleased  and 
sly  assent — "  can  I  not  ?" 

"And  will  you  ?"  cried  the  youth,  grasping  the 
arm  of  his  disinterested  friend  with  the  iron  power 
of  one  clinging  for  life  ;  "  knowing  me  to  be  guilty, 
deeply,  damnably  guilty,  will  you  ?" 

"  To-morrow,"  said  the  lawyer,  rubbing  his 
hands,  "  you  shall  be  free  as  air.  I  shall  but  want 
something  to  satisfy  expenses — a  hundred  dollars 
or  so." 

"  And  I,"  said  Norman,  with  a  countenance  of 
bitter  contempt,  and  flinging  from  him,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  disgust,  the  arm  of  his  cunning  adviser, 
"  if  I  had  a  thousand  lives,  would  rather  lose  them 
all  on  the  scaffold  than  share  in  the  corruption  of 
such  a  base  scoundrel.  Begone,  sir !  or  I  may 
really  be  what  you,  and  such  as  you,  think  me." 

The  astounded  personage  to  whom  this  was 
addressed  started  from  his  seat  with  mingled 
anger  and  fright,  but  immediately  recovering  him- 
self, said, — 

"  Your  only  hope,  young  man.  You  are  young 
and  romantic.  Imprisonment  and  misfortune  have 
shattered  your  nerves,  and  violent  repentance,  per- 
haps, inflamed  your  imagination.  If  one  hundred 
is  too  much,  say  fifty." 

"  I  would  be  alone,"  cried  Norman. 

"  I  may,  at  least,  entreat  of  you  a  pledge,"  said 
the  lawyer,  "  that  what  I  have  offered  in  kindness 
will  never  be  betrayed.  My  only  object,  sir,  I 
give  you  my  sacred  word  of  honour,  was  to  do 
you  service." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  fear  from  me,"  returned 
Norman,  "  if  you  will  take  yourself  away." 

"  Then,  farewell.     You  may  have  carried  my 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  203 

intimations  further  than  I  intended,  Mr.  Leslie ; 
but,  remember,  should  you  think  better  of  my 
means  of  serving  you,  I  am  ready  to  do  my  ut- 
most. I  can  save  you  from  death.  Without  a 
free  understanding  between  counsellor  and  client, 
the  case  is  hopeless.  To-morrow  you  will  tremble 
at  the  array  of  proof  against  you.  We  may  have 
no  opportunity  of  meeting  again  in  private.  Your 
counsel,  at  present,  have  nothing  to  urge  in  your 
defence.  I  have  taken  the  pains  to  inquire ;  they 
have  literally  nothing.  Innocent  or  guilty,  die  you 
must,  unless  you  adopt  means.  In  twenty-four 
hours,  perhaps,  the  verdict  may  be  rendered.  As 
the  case  stands  now,  it  must  be  fatal.  The  form 
of  your  own  scaffold  may  well  start  your  reason. 
I  can  save  you.  I  am  your  only  hope.  Good- 
morning,  sir ;  good-morning.  I  rest  satisfied,  sir, 
with  your  word  of  honour,  that  what  has  passed 
between  us  will  go  no  further.  Let  me  leave  my 
card.  Good-morning,  sir." 

At  the  door  Grey  met  another  learned  member 
of  the  profession,  whose  eloquence  and  talents 
placed  him  already  in  its  front  ranks.  They  were 
but  slightly  acquainted  ;  for  Mr.  Grey  belonged  to 
those  base  pettifoggers  and  hangers-on  of  the 
profession  who  at  once  disgrace  it  and  human 
nature. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Moreland,"  he  said,  "  are  you  too  bent 
to  this  wretched  man?" 

Moreland  signified  the  affirmative. 

"  A  strange  fellow  !"  continued  Mr.  Grey,  with  a 
significant  smile ;  "  guilty,  I  fear,  and  reckless  of 
death.  He  is  like  a  baited  bull,  ready  to  gore  alike 
friend  and  foe." 

"  Does  he  confess  ?"  asked  Moreland,  with  agi- 
tation. 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  "  he  confesses  nothing. 
He  still  affects  ignorance  and  perfect  innocence, 


204  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

assumes  the  lofty  moralist,  and  vainly  hopes  with 
this  brazen  hypocrisy  to  elude  his  fate,  or  cast  a 
doubt  over  his  crime.  His  father  and  sister  are 
evidently  dear  to  him,  and  rend  his  thoughts  more 
than  his  own  misery.  He  seems  ready  to  die, 
rather  than  compromise  their  good  name  by  con- 
fessing his  guilt.  He  is  a  noble  but  a  desperate 
being,  and  requires  watchfulness  and  care,  or  he 
may  give  the  impatient  mob  the  slip  after  the  high 
Roman  fashion." 

Moreland  is  already  partly  known  to  the  reader. 
He  differed  in  many  respects  from  his  more  aged 
and  experienced  associates ;  and  rather  sought  ex- 
cuses for  undoubted  sin,  than  invented  selfish  mo- 
tives for  apparent  virtue.  As  he  pictured  the 
cheerful  aspect  of  his  own  home,  which  he  had 
that  instant  left, — the  elegant  gayety  ever  presid- 
ing at  his  domestic  circle — the  innocent  love  and 
arch  vivacity  of  his  sweet  wife,  the  voices  of  his 
beautiful  children,  and  his  own  bright  prospects  of 
future  wealth,  fame,  and  happiness, — as  he  com- 
pared these- blessings  with  the  miseries  of  his  once 
pure  and  noble  friend,  now  a  prisoner,  perhaps 
about  to  be  sacrificed  on  the  scaffold— these  dis- 
mal walls,  this  desolate  cold  solitude,  and  the 
reflections  which  must  rend  the  mind  of  the  ac- 
cused,— his  heart  softened  yet  more  tenderly  to- 
wards him  ;  he  mourned  over  the  bleak  vicissitudes 
of  life,  and  trembled  at  the  inscrutable  decrees  of 
Providence.  His  soul  yearned  to  believe  him 
guiltless ;  but  such  an  astounding  array  of  proof 
had  been  elicited  against  him  that  even  he  wa- 
vered, and  knew  not  what  to  think. 

As  the  lawyer  entered  the  cell  of  the  captive,  he 
turned  actually  pale  at  the  sight  which  met  his 
view.  It  was  not  that  his  friend  suffered  any  of 
those  dismal  privations  of  food,  light,  and  air,  so 
commonly  identified  with  the  idea  of  a  prison ;— 


NORMAN  LESLIE.  205 

indeed,  he  occupied  a  room  tolerably  furnished  for 
his  use ;  and  the  care  of  his  affectionate  and  heart- 
broken family  had  supplied  him  with  all  the  luxu- 
ries of  life  compatible  with  his  situation ; — but  he 
himself  was  so  changed  and  faded — so  haggard 
and  ghastly  with  the  gnawings  of  a  haughty  and 
proud  spirit — -that,  for  the  moment,  in  that  dim 
light,  he  was  scarcely  recognised.  Still,  however, 
around  him  gathered  that  beauty  which  had  ren- 
dered him  remarkable  in  better  days,  a  reflection 
of  the  manly  graces  of  his  father,  and  which  now 
seemed  even  heightened  by  the  subduing  and 
chastening  hand  of  thought  and  sorrow.  His 
handsome  hair  now  fell  over  a  forehead  which 
seemed,  from  its  whiteness,  yet  more  broad  and 
high;  his  eyes  wore  an  expression  more  pensive 
and  touching  ;  the  smile  had  gained  in  winning 
grace  all  that  it  had  lost  in  spirit ;  and  his  whole 
manner  announced  a  character  deepened,  purified, 
and  elevated. 

He  raised  his  hand  calmly  to  his  friend,  who 
seized  it  with  silent  anguish ;  and  Moreland  fell  on 
his  neck  and  wept,  while  the  prisoner  soothed  and 
rebuked  him,  though  with  a  tremulous  voice. 

"  Dear,  dear  Norman  !*'  muttered  Moreland,  his 
words  broken  by  sobs ;  "  pardon  me — forgive 
me!" 

"God  bless  you,  Moreland,"  replied  Norman,  as 
his  friend  grew  more  composed ;  "  how  I  have 
wished  for  you !" 

"  Your  father  and  Julia,  Norman,  and  How- 
ard?" 

"  They  are  all  with  me  hours  every  day,  but 
their  grief  agonizes  me." 

"And  your  counsel,  Mr.  Loring?" 

"Oh,  he  talks  to  me,  but  racks  and  excruciates 
me  also.  I  have  told  him  I  know  nothing  what- 
ever of  this  charge.  It  must  fall  by  itself;  I  can- 

VOL.  I.— 8 


206  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

not  stoop  to  confute  it,  nor  have  I  the  means.  But 
you,  Moreland,  you  will  join  yourself  with  Loring, 
and  clear  me  from  so  ridiculous,  so  absurd  an  ac- 
cusation ?  I  have  had  hard  thoughts  of  you,  too," 
he  continued,  still  holding  his  friend's  hand  in  his 
own  firmly  and  affectionately.  "  That  the  world 
at  large  should  desert  me,  as  I  am  told  they  do, 
was  to  me  a  theme  neither  of  much  grief  nor  won- 
der ;  but  you,  Albert,  you  and  Mary  !" 

"  We  were  far,  far  away,  and  flew  to  town  the 
very  moment  we  heard  of  this  inexplicable — this 
terrible— this— " 

"  Ay,  Albert,"  said  Norman,  a  cloud  darkening 
over  his  face, "  pause  and  seek  for  words,  as  I  have 
done.  But  how  is  Mary  ?" 

"  Well  in  health,  but  shocked,  agitated,  and 
thunderstruck  at  your  present  situation,  and  at  the 
startling  evidence  against  you.  It  is  astounding, 
it  is  stunning  to  hear  the  array  of  facts ;  but  Mary 
would  be  your  defender  were  they  ten  thousand 
times  more  appalling." 

"  And  yet — confess  it,  Albert — even  you  have 
been  staggered  ?" 

"  Norman,  I  have  been  stunned ;  but  I  come  to 
you,  not  only  as  a  friend,  but  as  a  counsel.  I  shall 
add  myself  to  the  gentleman  already  employed  by 
your  father.  But,  before  we  proceed,  let  me  ask 
one  question.  If  any  extraordinary  circumstance 
— any  horrid  dilemma — any  sudden  intoxication  of 
love,  or  passion,  or  despair,  or  madness,  has  hur- 
ried you  to — " 

Norman  started  once  more  to  his  feet.  It  was 
no  longer  with  agitation.  Deep  despair  had  thrown 
around  him  a  character  of  mysterious  and  un- 
earthly coldness,  of  passionless  solemnity  and 
calmness,  like  that  which  invests  a  statue  gazed  on 
by  moonlight,  in  which  there  is  ever  a  thrilling  and 
spectral  power. 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  207 

"  It  is  enough !"  he  said  ;  "  my  cup  is  full.  I 
drink  it  to  the  dregs  without  a  murmur.  Leave 
me,  Moreland." 

He  was  obeyed.  We  shall  not  intrude  upon  his 
meditations. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Storm  increases. 


"  They  have  tied  me  to  the  stake,  I  cannot  fly." 

Macbeth: 


THE  morning  came — the  hour  of  trial  arrived. 
The  human  tide  had  already  rolled  into  the  court- 
room, and,  amid  shuffling  and  pushing,  and  the 
frequent  interference  of  the  police-officers,  and  all 
the  agitation  and  clamour  of  a  mob  much  excited, 
the  crowd  at  length  once  more  occupied,  not  only 
every  seat,  but  every  spot  where  a  foot  or  a  shoul- 
der could  be  braced,  or  a  hand  could  cling. 

The  judges  assumed  their  seats  ;  the  jury  were 
called  ;  silence  was  ordered  by  the  criers  ;  the  agi- 
tated mass  at  length  settled  into  quiet ;  the  prisoner 
again  entered,  and  was  placed  at  the  bar ;  and  all 
the  customary  forms  and  preliminaries  being  at 
length  accomplished,  the  indictment  was  regularly 
read,  and  the  district  attorney  rose  to  open  the 
case,  and  to  explain  the  circumstances  which  he 
expected  to  prove.  The  public  were  thus  put  in 
possession  of  all  the  authentic  facts  which  the 
industrious  investigations  of  the  State  attorney  had 
elicited.  The  speaker's  youthful  zeal  and  his  pro- 


208  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

fessional  ambition,  the  interest  which  hurries  along 
an  ardent  lawyer  for  the  time  to  make  the  cause 
of  his  client  his  own — which  warms  with  its  pro- 
gress and  strengthens  by  opposition,  and  which  at 
length  renders  the  desire  of  success  an  absorbing 
and  exclusive  passion,  almost  resembling  the  despe- 
rate anxiety  of  the  gambler — combined  to  inspire 
him  with  enthusiastic  eloquence.  His  recital  of  the 
circumstances  which  he  hoped  to  prove  was  con- 
ducted with  the  art  of  rhetoric,  and  coloured  with 
the  hues  of  imagination.  It  was  a  fearful  and 
soul-stirring  narrative,  that  chilled  the  blood  of  the 
coldest  auditor.  With  what  awful  force  must  it 
have  fallen  upon  the  ears  of  the  prisoner !  The 
orator  did  not  express  the  wary  suggestions  of  one 
seeking  truth,  but  the  excited  and  exciting  denun* 
ciations  of  a  mind  fully  predetermined,  and  highly 
inflamed  with  a  mere  one-sided  view  of  the  case ; 
placing  upon  every  interest  the  deepest  and  guilti- 
est construction  ;  supposing  the  basest  motives  for 
every  action  ;  disavowing  a  belief  of  whatever 
tended  to  exculpate  ;  magnifying,  through  the  me- 
dium of  a  heated  fancy,  every  damning  proof; 
overlooking,  thrusting  aside,  explaining  away,  or 
ridiculing,  every  palliating  circumstance  ;  sketch- 
ing, with  a  bold  pencil  of  vindictive  hate,  a  picture 
of  unparalleled,  irredeemable  iniquity,  and  shed- 
ding upon  it  a  glare  of  poetic  light,  calculated  to 
startle  and  to  appal  every  heart.  How  far  such  a 
course  is  conformable  to"  the  elucidation  of  truth, 
the  interests  of  society,  and  the  spirit  of  a  court 
of  justice,  and  how  far  a  more  merciful  principle 
might  be  incompatible  with  the  safe  and  beneficial 
operation  of  the  legal  machinery,  I  leave  to  the 
determination  of  the  profession  itself  and  of  the 
world.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  long  before  the 
eloquent  counsel  had  closed  his  opening  speech, 
the  prisoner,  whose  doomed  head  was  the  single 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  209 

and  unsheltered  mark  for  bolt  after  bolt,  launched 
from  the  hand  of  one  he  had  never  injured,  and 
against  whose  fiery  assaults  he  could  rear  no  de- 
fence, found  himself  the  centre  of  all  eyes,  and 
evidently  the  object  of  universal  and  unmingled 
horror.  Alone,  writhing  in  unspeakable  agony 
— compelled  to  hear  himself,  his  character,  his 
thoughts,  words,  and  actions,  misrepresented, 
blackened,  and  denounced — forbidden  the  privi- 
lege of  explaining,  of  denying — without  the  power 
either  to  resist  or  to  fly, — he  lay  like  Prometheus 
chained  on  the  cold  rock,  his  heart  pierced  by  the 
beak  of  a  fierce  foe,  and  with  all  the  thunders  of 
heaven  rolling  over  his  head. 

"  You  have  seen,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  ora- 
tor, with  excited  voice  and  flashing  eyes,  and,  ever 
and  anon,  a  glance  of  lofty  and  pitiless  scorn  on 
the  ghastly  face  of  his  victim — "  you  have  seen,  in 
the  perpetrator  of  this  dreadful  deed,  the  aspect  of 
youth,  the  outbreak  of  feeling,  a  mild  and  gentle 
demeanour,  patience,  modest  silence  on  the  lip, 
and  cheeks  blanched  by  suffering.  You  are  moved. 
Your  bosoms  soften.  You  relent.  You  think  of 
his  heart-broken  father:  you  are  fathers  your- 
selves ;  you  cannot  credit  the  accusation.  That 
gentle  face  never  glared  over  the  agonies  himself 
had  occasioned  ;  those  hands  never  accomplished 
the  deed  of  death.  Beneath  that  youthful  bosom, 
now  heaving  with  emotion,  never  lurked  the 
gloomy  fierceness  of  an  assassin.  Alas  !  gentle- 
men, that  my  painful  duty  should  break  your 
dreams  of  mercy.  Human  nature  teems  with 
contrasts  and  paradoxes  like  these,  and  the  cun- 
ning devices  of  Satan  are  formed  at  once  to  delude 
the  criminal  and  his  fellow-creatures.  It  is  even 
in  such  a  form  that  he  too  often  pours  his  poison. 
It  is  in  such  a  bosom  that  he  plants  his  wildest 
passions.  He  secretes  the  coiled  serpent  under 
s  2 


210  NORMAN    LESLIE-. 

a  bed  of  flowers.  Sin  often  lies  where  men  least 
suspect  its  existence.  Look  not  only  among  the 
rude,  the  uncouth,  the  deformed,  the  poor,  or  the 
ignorant,  for  the  perpetrators  of  crime.  The  very 
passions  we  most  admire  lead  us  astray.  Love,, 
the  tenderest  of  human  sentiments,  sometimes 
guides  the  dagger  and  drugs  the  bowl.  It  is  in 
one  like  the  accused  that  this  passion,  with  all  its 
frightful  consequences,  springs  with  the  greatest 
facility  and  attains  the  most  monstrous  power.  It 
is  in  the  specious  form  of  grace,  knowledge,  and 
virtue  that  the  tempter  steals  upon  his  victim.  A 
rich  and  luxuriant  soil,  gentlemen,  teeming  with 
fruit  and  flowers,  yields  also  the  most  poisonous 
plants,  in  the  most  remarkable  vigour.  Has  the 
prisoner's  former  life  been  pure  and  amiable  ?  has- 
his  character  been  marked  by  no  atrocity  ?  has  he 
rather  been  compassionate  and  tender,  and  would 
my  able  opponents  thence  conclude  the  impossi- 
bility of  his  having  committed  this  deed  ?  They 
who  know  human  nature  will  not  be  deceived  by 
their  eloquent  sophistry.  Your  experience,  your 
observation,  your  reading,  have  already  taught  you 
the  fallacy  of  such  reasoning.  Nero,  one  of  the 
bloodiest  tyrants  that  ever  darkened  the  historic 
page,  was,  like  this  man,  once  a  youthful  votary  of 
tenderness  and  refinement ;  and  his  heart,  which, 
when  more  fully  developed,  could  never  sufficiently 
sate  itself  with  human  sacrifice,  melted  and  re- 
coiled from  attaching  his  signature  to  a  just  death- 
warrant.  I  refer  to  this  well-known  inconsistency 
in  human  nature,  gentlemen,  to.  guard  your  minds- 
against  the  attempts,  on  the  part  of  my  ingenious 
opponents,  to  excite  your  sympathies  in  favour  of 
the  character  of  the  accused.  Gentlemen,  when, 
God  gave  the  garden  of  Eden  to  the  beings  he 
had  created,  on  one  condition — the  golden  fruit  was 
forbidden  to  man  and  beast — who  was  it  that 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  211 

disobeyed  the  command?  It  was  none  of  the 
lower  class  of  beings  ;  it  was  not  even  man  him- 
self. It  was  Eve  who  reached  forth  her  hand, 
plucked,  and  ate — Eve,  the  fairest,  the  purest ;  but 
the  penalty  of  crime  must  fall  upon  the  guilty, 
however  surrounded  with  earthly  beauty.  The 
golden  tresses  of  the  mother  of  mankind  did  not 
shield  her  head  from  the  anger  of  Heaven ;  nei- 
ther must  your  hearts  be  turned  away  from  justice 
and  your  oath,  by  the  eloquence  or  the  subterfuges 
of  my  legal  opposers.  It  is  the  lot  of  guilt  to 
suffer ;  and  in  yielding  on  this  occasion  to  the 
weakness  of  personal  feeling,  you  must  remember 
that  you  not  only  betray  the  great  interests  of  so- 
ciety, but  you  violate  your  own  oaths." 

As  the  speaker  closed,  the  sudden  bustle  of  the 
auditory  announced  their  release  from  the  spell 
which  he  had  exercised  over  them ;  and  the  uni- 
versal change  of  position,  and  the  general  freedom 
of  respiration,  betrayed  that  he  had  held  them 
almost  breathless  and  motionless. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  reader  unac- 
quainted with  the  forms  of  judicial  proceedings,  that 
the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  possess  the  right  to 
open  the  case  ;  that  the  witnesses  in  the  support  of 
the  indictment  are  then  examined.  ,  The  counsel 
for  the  defendant  then  produce  their  testimony,  and 
address  the  jury  in  his  behalf;  and,  by  a  rule  of 
law,  which  at  first  appears  contrary  to  its  general 
maxims  of  mercy,  the  prosecution  exercise  the  im- 
portant privilege  of  advancing  the  last  appeal  to 
the  reason  and  feelings  of  the  jury.  The  prisoner 
sits,  with  such  suspense  as  may  be  best  imagined  by 
the  intelligent  reader,  the  silent  spectator  of  the 
fiercely-contested  conflict,  upon  the  issue  of  which 
he  depends  for  security  from  death  upon  the 
scaffold. 

It  was  with  the  calmness  of  desperate  anguish 


212  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

that  the  accused  turned  on  his  seat,  after  the  ad- 
dress of  the  prosecuting  attorney,  to  listen  to  the 
evidence  by  which  it  had  been  elicited,  and  which 
was  deemed  so  abundantly  sufficient,  in  the  eyes  of 
a  sagacious  lawyer,  to  stamp  upon  him  the  un- 
doubted odium  of  this  heinous  crime. 

The  limits  of  the  story  will  not  permit  us  to 
detail  the  extraordinary  mass  of  evidence  now 
brought  forward  in  support  of  the  indictment ;  but 
we  briefly  relate  the  leading  facts,  sworn  to  by 
many  unimpeachable  witnesses. 

It  appeared  that  the  prisoner  was  of  a  sanguine 
and  passionate  temperament,  prone  to  act  upon 
impulse — of  liberal  education  and  uncommon  tal- 
ents,— his  family  wealthy,  and  his  father  one  of 
the  most  eminent  of  American  statesmen.  Not- 
withstanding, however,  the  graceful  and  gentle 
manners  and  the  apparently  kind  heart  of  the 
prisoner,  he  had  several  times  exhibited  a  high- 
wrought  temper,  a  total  disregard  of  morality  and 
religion,  and  an  inherent  ferocity — which,  argued 
the  counsel,  might  fully  sanction  the  probable  truth 
of  the  present  charge.  Count  Clairmont  was  the 
witness  called  upon  to  describe  the  difference 
which  formerly  took  place  between  himself  and  the 
prisoner;  and  the  extraordinary  barbarity  or  mad- 
ness of  the  latter,  who  insisted  on  either  not  fight- 
ing at  all,  or  else  with  the  muzzles  against  each 
other's  breast :  in  this  state  the  affair  was  pending, 
when  arranged  by  the  accidental  interference  of 
friends.  He  related  also  the  recent  fracas  between 
them,  with  singular  and  artful  malice. 

It  appeared,  by  other  witnesses,  that  the  prisoner 
had  conceived  an  affection  for  Miss  Remain :  it 
could  not  be  distinctly  sworn  how  far  his  love  was 
requited,  but  plausible  and  terrible  surmises  were 
entertained  on  the  subject;  and  the  prosecution 
attempted  to  produce  evidence  leading  to  the  dark- 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  213 

est  conjectures ;  but,  as  it  depended  upon  hearsay, 
the  witnesses  were  either  prohibited  from  answer- 
ing, or  their  answers  were  set  aside  by  the  court,  as 
not  legal  proof.  They  doubtless,  however,  were 
not  without  effect  upon  the  jury. 

It  was  next  proved  that  a  change  of  sentiments 
had  taken  place  between  Miss  Romain  and  the 
prisoner;  after  which  she  expressed  herself  in  bit- 
ter terms  against  him — spoke  of  her  wrongs,  and 
her  folly  in  submitting  to  them  ;  and  exhibited,  be- 
fore a  confidential  female  domestic,  keen  disap- 
pointment and  anguish,  great  anxiety,  and  a  mys- 
terious agitation :  sometimes  bursting  forth  into 
anger,  and  sometimes  settling  down  into  long  fits  of 
melancholy.  At  length  she  appeared  free  from  all 
embarrassment ;  and  the  prisoner,  in  common  with 
many  other  gentlemen,  visited  the  house  as  usual. 
During  several  days,  however,  previous  to  the 
afternoon  of  the  murder,  she  let  fall,  before  Jenny, 
frequent  expressions  by  which  the  faithful  maid's 
curiosity  was  greatly  awakened,  and  her  affection 
alarmed.  She  commenced  several  times  as  if  to  re- 
veal an  important  secret;  then  suddenly  turning 
pale,  stopped,  and  on  being  interrogated,  refused  any 
explanation,  sometimes  replying  with  sighs.  Once, 
when  she  thought  herself  ajone,  she  was  heard  to  ex- 
claim, "  If  he  but  prove  honest— if  he  but  mean  well ;" 
and  other  similar  sentences.  Witness,  Jenny, 
slept  in  a  small  room  immediately  adjoining  that  of 
Miss  Romain.  On  the  morning  of  the  fatal  day, 
she  was  awakened  before  light  by  the  sound  of  her 
mistress's  voice,  apparently  speaking  to  some  one 
below.  Her  mistress  stood  at  a  window  leading 
out  upon  a  little  balcony.  Witness  was  alarmed, 
rose,  asked  what  was  the  matter,  and  came  to  the 
window — saw  the  shadow  of  a  man  stealing  away. 
In  great  alarm  and  astonishment  asked  who  it  wa's, 
and  whether  it  was  Mr.  Leslie  ?  The  other  re- 


214  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

plied,  eagerly,  "  Yes — yes,  it  was  Mr.  Leslie.  He 
came  to  tell  me  something ;"  and  then  added, 
"  but,  Jenny,  if  you  ever  breathe  a  word  of  this  to 
anybody,  I  will  never  forgive  you  while  I  live ; 
and,  when  I  am  dead,  I  will  haunt  you." 

A  crowd  of  witnesses  testified  that  the  prisoner 
had  called  for  the  deceased  in  a  gig,  on  the  after- 
noon of  the  murder:  from  that  moment  she  had 
never  been  seen  or  heard  of.  The  prisoner  was 
seen  returning  in  the  evening  alone.  One  testified 
that,  aware  of  his  having  driven  out  with  Miss  Ro- 
main,  he  asked  why  he  had  left  his  companion  ? 
that  the  prisoner  exhibited  .strong  signs  of  embar- 
rassment ;  and  made  a  confused  and  unintelligible 
reply.  The  hat  and  feathers  of  the  deceased  were 
found  floating  upon  the  East  River,  near  the  spot 
where  e he  was  last  trao.p.H  with  thfi  prisnnfir;  an 
extraordinary  appearance  of  a  scuffle  was  discern- 
ible; and  a  handkerchief,  stained  with  blood, 
marked  with  the  initials  R.  R.,  and  pronounced  to 
be  that  of  Miss  Remain,  was  picked  up  near  the 
river-bank. 

The  circumstance  most  forcible  against  the  pris- 
oner was  the  subsequent  discovery  of  a  human 
body,  which  had  floated  far  down  with  the  tide, 
upon  the  shores  of  Long  Island,  in  a  state  to  pre- 
clude the  possibility  of  identifying  it ;  but  in  which, 
notwithstanding,  many  undertook  to  recognise  the 
remains  of  the  unfortunate  Miss  Romain.  One  in- 
dividual swore  to  it  positively. 

An  appalling  array  of  other  evidence  was  ad- 
duced, tending  to  establish  all  the  points  necessary 
to  the  successful  prosecution  of  the  indictment ; 
and,  when  the  prosecuting  attorney  rested  his  case, 
it  is  probable  that  very  few,  amid  the  vast  and  va- 
rious multitude  who  had  listened  with  profound 
attention  to  the  development  of  these  deeply  inter- 
esting incidents,  entertained  the  slightest  doubt  that 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  215 

the  doomed  culprit  was  about  to  meet  a  terrible  and 
a  just  fate.  All  eyes  regarded  him  without  the  soft- 
ness of  mercy,  or  even  the  interest  of  doubt.  To 
all  he  seemed  a  victim  bound  for  slaughter.  The 
populace  had  long  before  lost  all  sense  of  pity  in 
wonder  and  indignation.  The  broad  gaze  of  cold 
curiosity,  the  exclamation  of  surprise,  the  murmur 
of  horror,  the  smile  of  virtue  triumphing  in  the 
downfall  of  a  villain — all  these  were  scarcely  at- 
tempted to  be  concealed  from  the  observation  of 
him  who  had  called  them  forth. 

"  Poor  Mr.  Leslie  !"  said  Jenny,  her  eyes  red 
with  weeping,  and  after  a  long  gaze  upon  his  calm 
and  noble  features,  till  her  pretty  blue  eyes  could 
no  longer  see  through  her  tears ;  "  I  shall  never 
trust  to  man's  face  again.  Oh,  Mr.  Leslie,  forgive 
me,  forgive  me  !  If  you  are  guilty  there  is  no  truth 
on  earth.  I  cannot  believe  it." 

It  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  court 
adjourned,  to  meet  again  at  six  in  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  Letter,  and  Woman's  Friendship. 


"  Even  as  men  wrecked  upon  a  sand,  that  look  to  be  washed  off 
the  next  tide." 


INSTEAD  of  immediately  following  the  prisoner 
to  his  cell,  we  beg  the  reader's  company  to  the 
mansion  of  Moreland.  The  young  advocate  had 
been  in  court  at  his  station  all  the  morning,  and 
to  his  watchful  care  and  acute  genius  the  counsel. 
Mr.  Loring,  owed  many  valuable  suggestions  in 


216  NORMAN    LESLIE* 

the  course  of  his  cross-examination  of  the  wit- 
nesses. Sometimes  his  mind  was  staggered  by  the 
testimony,  combined  with  what  he  had  elsewhere 
heard.  He  remembered  also  the  strong  expres- 
sions of  disgust  and  hatred  which  Norman  had 
used  respecting  Rosalie  Romainat  Mrs.  Temple's, 
when  the  deceased  had  so  brilliantly  displayed  her 
charms  and  her  talents.  Again,  the  utter  impos- 
sibility of  Norman  Leslie's  having  committed  a 
murder  flashed  on  his  mind  with  the  force  of  intui- 
tion ;  and  his  heart  smote  him  for  having  ever,  even 
in  the  weakness  of  a  moment,  doubted  the  invinci- 
ble purity  and  innocence  of  his  friend,  whom  he 
had  so  many  reasons  to  admire  and  love.  He  had 
at  length  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  either  Nor- 
man was  entirely  guiltless, or  that  he  had  committed 
the  deed  under  the  impulse  of  some  momentary 
delirium  ;  or,  perhaps,  that  it  was  the  result  of  inex- 
plicable accident ;  or,  that  the  affair  involved  other 
secrets  and  mysteries,  which  honour,*  or  a  high- 
minded  romantic  sensibility  forbade  him  to  betray, 
even  to  save  himself  from  an  unjust  fate. 

"  Dare  I  ask  how  it  has  gone  with  him  to-day  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Moreland,  as  her  husband  reached  his 
home. 

"  Badly,  gloomily,  desperately.  His  sky  is  black 
as  midnight,  and  all  the  fiercest  lightnings  of 
heaven  are  leaping  around  his  head.  Mary,  I  fear 
the  worst  !" 

•  "  Oh,  great  Providence  ! — Albert,  you  will  not 
let  those  cold  and  cruel  lawyers  sacrifice  that  gen- 
tle and  noble  being !  Powers  of  heaven  !  if  I  were 
a  man  !  You,  dear  Albert,  have  genius,  eloquence, 
fire — Oh  speak  ! — exclaim — denounce — thunder — 
deafen  their  ears — appal  their  hearts — make  them 
blush — make  them  tremble !  Oh,  Albert,  save  your 
friend !  save  the  reputation  of  your  country  !  save 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  217 

this  cold-blooded  court  from  committing  the  very 
.crime  that  they  pretend  to  punish !" 

"  Alas  I  my  sweet  wife,"  said  he,  pressing  the 
animated  girl  to  his  bosom,  and  looking  down 
mournfully  on  her  beautiful  and  illumined  face, 
"  all  the  thunders  of  Demosthenes  could  not  save 
poor  Norman's  head  from  this  bolt.  Mary,  I  fear, 
I  fear  our  friend  must  die." 

An  hour  brought  a  messenger  with  a  letter.  It 
was  from  Norman,  and  read  thus : — 

"  My  dearest  Albert,  excuse  my  warmth  to  you 
the  other  day.  I  have  now  seen  sufficient  reason 
why  even  you  should  be  bewildered  at  the  mystery 
in  which  I  am  lost.  I  beg  your  pardon  sincerely. 
Visit  me  once  more  :  I  have  requested  my  father 
and  sister  to  meet  me  also,  for  the  last  time.  This 
day  must  disentangle  my  mind  from  all  earthly 
feelings  and  agitations.  I  am  resigned  to  the  fatal 
and  inevitable  termination  of  this  trial :  the  ver- 
dict cannot  but  be  Guilty.  Come  to  me  immedi- 
ately, my  dearest  friend ;  I  shall  then  have  done 
with  earth.  I  must  say  farewell  for  ever,  to-night. 
Bid  dear,  dear  Mary,  for  me,  an  everlasting  adieu, 
I  call  down  God's  blessing  on  her  head.  I  will  not 
insult  her  by  condescending  to  assert  my  inno- 
cence. Such  declarations  are  useless :  such  as 
she  do  not  require,  and  the  rest  of  the  world  will 
not  believe,  them.  I  send  her  a  little  volume  of 
'  Paradise  Lost,'  which  I  have  pencilled  somewhat 
freely,  not  thinking  to  part  with  it  on  so  sad  an  oc- 
casion. Does  she  remember  our  ancient  rambles 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  ?  our  famous  quarrel 
when  we  were  children,  and  when  we  did  not 
speak  for  three  days  ?  Happy,  happy  years ! 
How  their  tranquil  light  and  beauty  contrast  with 
the  present !  But  I  must  be  a  man.  Come  imme- 
diately ;  the  court  meet  at  six — it  is  now  four. 

VOL.  i. — T 


218  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

Mary  would  have  been  astonished  to  hear  what  a 
dreadful  ruffian  I  was  proved  to  be  !  And  that  affair 
of  the  duel ! !  I  could  have  smiled,  but  they  would 
have  ascribed  that  to  my  '  inherent  ferocity  of  char- 
acter' What  ^  farce,  after  all,  are  often  the  best 
ceremonies  of  a  human  tribunal.  Good-by,  for 
a  half-hour :  be  not  longer.  It  may  be  my  last 
request.  God  bless  you,  dear  Mary  !  and  a  long 
farewell !  Excuse  this  scrawl ;  and  in  great  haste, 
"  Your  ever  affectionate  friend, 

"  NORMAN  LESLIE." 

"  Poor — poor  fellow  !"  murmured  both  at  once, 
their  eyes  streaming  with  tears. 

"  And  see,"  said  Mary,  smiling,  with  that  strange 
intrusion  of  transient  mirth  into  the  midst  of  grief, 
not  uncommon  in  similar  scenes  ;  "  Norman  is  sure 
to  have  that  'excuse  this  scrawl,  and  in  great 
haste,'  to  all  his  letters." 

"  Good-by,  dear  wife." 

"  Fly,  Albert,  fly,  and  the  great  God  of  eloquence 
and  justice  attend  your  steps !" 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  2J9 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Prison  Scenes — The  Tried  continued — Anew  Witness. 


"  Sable  night  involves  the  skies 
And  heaven  itself  is  ravished  from  their  eyes. 

The  face  of  things  a  frightful  image  bears, 
And  present  death  in  various  forms  appears." 
DRYDKN'S 


MORELAND  found  the  father  and  sister  of  Nor- 
man already  in  the  prison,  with  his  friend  Howard. 
The  sad  scene  had  been  witnessed  but  by  the 
black  walls  alone ;  nor  shall  we  attempt  to  describe 
the  meeting  of  a  father  and  sister  with  a  beloved 
and  only  son  and  brother,  but  recently  dragged 
from  the  bosom  of  a  happy  family,  with  all  the  re- 
finement of  education,  all  the  sensitiveness  of  deli- 
cacy and  feeling,  and  about  to  perish  like  a  com- 
'  mon  ruffian  upon  a  scaffold. 

The  clock  tolled  six.  It  was  the  hour  appointed 
for  the  reopening  of  the  court.  At  the  earnest  so- 
licitations of  the  father  and  sister  of  Norman,  he 
.consented  that  the  latter  should  be  present  during 
the  whole  of  the  trial.  The  request  was  also 
urged  by  Moreland,  who  conceived  that  her  ap- 
pearance would  prepare  the  jury  to  receive  with 
more  liberality  the  arguments  and  proof  of  the  de- 
fence. 

"  Well,  father,"  said  Norman,  with  a  forced  smile, 
"and  dear,  dear  Julia,  now  we  part,  and  certainly 
for  ever  ;  after  the  verdict,  I  cannot,  I  will  not,  trust 


220  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

myself  again  within  the  sound  of  any  human  voice 
I  love.  No  one,  with  my  permission,  shall  look 
upon  my  face  again.  Farewell,  farewell ! — may 
Almighty  God  bless — protect — relieve  you — nay,. 
Julia,  nay — father,  support  yourself— my  sweet 
Julia — Howard,  for  God's  sake — " 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  summons  for  the 
prisoner.  The  young  lawyer,  his  own  eyes  bathed 
in  tears,  drew  away  with  gentle  violence  the  father, 
while  Howard  supported  the  shuddering  and  faint- 
ing sister,  after  an  embrace  more  than  twice  re- 
peated, which  seemed  to  drain  the  life-blood  from 
their  lips  and  hearts.  As  they  were  thus  led  from 
the  cell,  Julia,  with  a  shriek  of  agony,  fell  senseless 
in  the  arms  of  Howard. 

Returning,  to  his  surprise,  Moreland  found  the 
countenance  and  demeanour  of  Norman  calm — 
even  cold. 

i  "  Thank  God ! — thank  God  !"  he  said,  in  a 
steady  voice,  "  it  is  done.  The  bond  is  severed — 
the  darkness,  the  bitterness  of  death  is  passed.  It 
is  this,  dear  Albert,  that  I  most  feared — not  death 
itself,  but  these  scenes  of  frightful  grief  and  har- 
rowing affection.  But  we,  too,  must  part.  I  must 
meet  my  fate  alone — without  a  friend — without  a 
hope — to  the  bar — to  the  sentence— to  the  scaf— "' 
A  quivering  agony  shot  across  his  features ;  then 
again  all  was  calm  and  cold  as  marble. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
to  the  officers  in  waiting  to  conduct  him  back  to 
court/  "may  I  beg  one  word  in  private  with  this 
my  friend  and  counsellor  ?" 

The  permission  was  granted,  and  they  were 
locked  in  the  cell. 

"  Albert,"  cried  Norman,  in  a  voice  as  changed, 
wild,  and  hurried  as  if  his  senses  were  wavering, 
"  Albert,  hear  me  ! — by  your  friendship — by  your 
love — by  the  happiness  of  my  family — by  my  life- 


NORMAN    LESLIE. 


221 


blood — by  your  own  honour  and  peace  of  mind — 
by  earth — by  the  God  that  made  it — grant,  grant 
my  request !" 

"Speak — speak,  my  injured,  my  noble  friend  !" 
said  Moreland,  partaking  his  agitation. 

"  You  saw  my  poor  father  but  now  ?" 

"Well,  Norman?" 

"  And  my  sweet  sister  ?— a  beautiful,  blooming 
girl,  with  the  bright  world  before  her." 

"Well,  dear  Norman?" 

"That  noble  man's  proud  head,  Albert— that 
dear  girl's  pure,  fond,  high  heart,  as  susceptible  to 
pride,  Albert,  as  sensitive  to  grief  and  disgrace, 


He  struck  his  hand  upon  his  forehead ;  his 
bosom  heaved  and  panted  ;  and  his  nostril  dilated 
with  the  hard-drawn  breath. 

"  Well,  Norman,  hope  for  the  best." 

"  Albert,"  said  Norman,  "  trifle  not  with  me.  I 
must  be  crushed  in  this  dreadful  fate.  Earth  can- 
not save  me,  Heaven  will  not !  To-night  I  shall  be 
adjudged  guilty;  and  in'  a  few  more  days  the 
crowd — the  cord — the  scaffold — end  Norman  Les- 
lie. Death  alone  I  do  not  fear.  Oh  God,  how  I 
have  wished  for  it ! — but  I  must  die  on  the  scaffold, 
before  the  mob — the  shouting,  laughing,  reckless, 
jesting  mob — a  spectacle  of  horror  and  ignominy — 
a  public  proverb  !  Oh  Albert,  Albert ! — my  friend 
— my  guardian — my  saviour — my  last — best — only 
— only  hope — I  wish — " 

His  paleness  turned  frightful. 

"  Norman,"  cried  Moreland,  in  a  tone  of  alarm, 
"  in  the  name  of  mercy,  what  would  you  ask  ?" 

"  Think— my  friend — think,"  said  Norman. 

"  I  am  dizzy,  dear  Norman,  I  cannot  think." 

A  new  summons  interrupted  them. 

"  Albert — we  will  meet  again.  I  must  die — but 
not  on  the  scaffold  ;  forbid  it,  friendship — manly 

T2 


222  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

honour  !  After  this  mummery  is  over — this  farci- 
cal, ridiculous  ceremony  of  a  trial,  where  every 
word  that  is  spoken  is  a  black  slander,  an  unholy 
lie,  where  falsehood  and  prejudice  appear  to  tes- 
tify, and  where  even  truth  herself  comes  only  in  a 
vile  and  monstrous  disguise — when  this  stupid 
mockery  is  over,  come  to  me,  Albert,  bring  me  the 
means  of  escape." 

"  Norman,  1  do  not  understand." 

"  Not  from  these  dismal  walls,  Albert" — he  ap- 
proached, and  whispered  in  his  ear,  with  a  look  of 
wild  meaning,  and  struck  his  hand  upon  his  breast 
— "  from  this  !" 

"Great  God  !" 

"  Fail  me,  Albert,  and  I  die — despising ;  assist 
me,  and  I  bless  you  with  my  expiring  breath. 
This  thought  has  supported  me ;  this  cooled  the 
scorching  fever  in  my  veins  and  bursting  temples 
during  the  last  two  days." 

A  more  imperative  call  now  cut  short  the  inter- 
view. 

He  smiled  as  the  officers  now  entered  ;  and, 
bearing  up  proudly  and  loftily  under  the  gaze  of 
crowds  assembled  outside  the  prison  to  see  him 
pass,  he  stepped  with  a  calm  and  thoughtful  air 
through  the  passage  opened  for  him  by  the  throngs 
in  the  corridors  of  the  Hall,  and  in  the  chamber 
of  justice,  and  assumed  his  accustomed  seat.  His 
coolness  created  in  some  surprise,  in  others  indig- 
nation, according  as  in  their  short-sighted  and  su- 
perficial observations  they  ascribed  it  to  hackneyed 
villany,  or  impudent  confidence  in  his  connections 
and  rank  in  society.  Who  shall  read  the  heart  in 
those  ever-changing  and  accidental  moods  which 
chance  upon  the  manners  or  countenance  ? 

"  He  depends  on  a  pardon,"  said  one. 

"  Influence  at  court,"  cried  another. 

"  Kissing  goes  by  favour/'  exclaimed  a  third. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  223 

"  But  he'll  swing  for  it  yet,"  cried  a  fourth,  "  or 
my  name  aint  Jemmy  Jackson  !" 

"  The  blood-thirsty  villain  !"  observed  one  ; 
"  how  he  glares  at  the  prosecuting  attorney  !" 

"  That  proud  rascal  yonder,"  said  Jemmy  Jack- 
son, who,  from  some  capricious  association,  had 
conceived  an  especial  antipathy  to  the  prisoner, 
"  and  that  girl  in  the  black  veil — that's  his  father 
and  sister,  ye  see." 

"  Poor  people !"  rejoined  the  person  to  whom 
was  made  this  communication;  "they  must  feel 
terrible,  sure  enough." 

"  Hoot,  man,  I'll  warrant  them  as  bad  as  he," 
returned  the  implacable  Jemmy  Jackson ;  "such 
fruit  could  spring  from  no  good  tree.  In  my  opin- 
ion they  ought  to  be  all  hanged  together.  I  should 
not  wonder  if  he  paid  his  way  through  yet." 

"  Jemmy  Jackson,  you  are  an  old  fool-,"  said  a 
Marine  Court  lawyer,  himself  rather  advanced  in 
years. 

"  Then  it's  pot  calling  kettle  black,  I'm  thinkin," 
said  Jemmy,  winking  to  his  companions.  "And 
why  am  I  a  fool,  Mr.  Oakum  ?" 

"  Because  ye  are,  Jemmy ;  and  that's  a  better 
reason  than  you  can  give  for  saying  that  anybody 
pays  his  way.  Here  no  one  pays  his  way ;  not 
even  yourself,  Jemmy,  if  you  should  be  called  on 
to  be  hanged  one  day,  which  is  not  unlikely." 

"  But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  bribing  a  witness," 
said  Jemmy,  who,  without  the  least  cause  but  his 
own  whim,  had  so  dogmatically  determined  upon 
the  guilt  of  the  prisoner  and  all  his  relations,  that 
if  the  murdered  girl  herself  had  made  her  appear- 
ance to  disprove  the  charge  of  her  death,  he  would 
have  laid  it  to  bribery.  "  You  remember  the  gold 
snuff-box  which  one  of  you  lawyers  quietly  passed 
to  a  juror,  Mr.  Oakum  ?" 


224  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

"  Not  I,  Jemmy;  /never  passed  a  gold  snuff-box 
to  a  juror." 

"  No,"  said  Jemmy,  "  the  gold  snuff-boxes  you 
may  have,  friend  Oakum,  you  are  more  likely  to 
keep  yourself;  not  on  account  of  your  conscience, 
but  your  pocket." 

"  Hoot,  hist,  silence  !"  cried  Mr.  Oakum,  pre- 
tending not  to  hear  the  laugh  which  Jemmy  Jack- 
son's wit  occasioned ;  "  don't  you  see  they're  going 
to  begin.  Mr.  Loring  is  going  to  open  the  defence. 
There  are  two  sides  to  a  stone  wall,  you  know, 
Mr.  Jemmy  Jackson.  Sit  down  there !  no  stand- 
ing up  within  the  bar !  Silence  !"  and  his  whisper 
was  echoed  in  an  obstreperous  tone  by  the  crier. 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  Mr.  Loring,  com- 
menced his  arduous  and  apparently  hopeless 
duties. 

We  must  here  again  express  in  a  few  lines  what 
occupied  the  court  a  long  time.  It  was  admitted 
that  Miss  Remain  disappeared  the  afternoon  of 
her  ride  with  the  prisoner.  That  he  had  gone  out 
with  her  and  returned  alone.  His  own  explana- 
tion stated  that  Miss  Romain  had  ridden  with  him 
upon  a  casual  invitation  ;  that  on  reaching  an  un- 
frequented place,  they  met  a  lady  riding  alone  in 
a  gig,  and,  what  he  considered  very  extraordinary, 
driving  herself.  The  deceased  entered  the  gig, 
and,  after  a  few  moments'  private  conversation 
with  her,  and  with  many  apologies  to  the  prisoner, 
expressed  a  wish  to  return  with  her.  That  pris- 
oner had  then  gone  back  alone  by  a  different  route, 
and  had  not  suspected  her  disappearance  till  some 
time  after,  when  he  immediately  called  on  her 
father  to  explain  what  he  knew  of  so  extraordinary 
a  circumstance. 

Mr.  Loring  opened  the  defence  by  stating  that 
the  incident  was  plunged  in  doubt  and  mystery- 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  225 

The  idea  that  a  man  of  the  prisoner's  character, 
even  were  he  inclined  to  commit  a  murder,  would 
select  such  a  time  and  such  means,  was  absurd. 
He  might  as  well  have  perpetrated  it  in  the  city 
streets  at  noonday.  It  was  evident  that  some  un- 
fathomable mystery  was  connected  with  it,  with 
which  the  prisoner  had  nothing  to  do,  and  which 
the  court  had  not  yet  approached.  It  was  one  of 
those  inexplicable  occurrences  which,  when  ge- 
nius, and  acuteness,  and  professional  learning  had 
vainly  endeavoured  to  solve,  unfolded  of  itself  in 
the  course  of  time.  "  The  explanation  of  the  pris- 
oner may  appear  a  clumsy  fabrication,  too  clumsy 
to  believe ;  yet,  gentlemen,  beware  how  you  admit 
that  supposition.  To  me  its  very  clumsiness  and 
improbability  furnish  a  reason  for  its  truth.  You 
smile.  But  do  improbable  things  never  happen  ? 
Are  all  the  actions  of  the  great,  confused,  clashing, 
mutable  world  probable  ?  Must  a  man  perish  be- 
cause an  improbable  fact  had  taken  place  ?  I  say, 
gentlemen,  the  greater  the  improbability  of  this 
story,  the  more  implicitly  I  believe  it.  Had  he 
wished  to  invent  a  story,  it  would  have  been  more 
cunningly  devised." 

The  evidence  for  the  prisoner  was  very  limited. 
The  officers  swore  to  his  horror  and  astonishment 
at  being  arrested ;  but,  in  the  cross-examination, 
confessed  that  he  betrayed  extraordinary  signs  of 
confusion,  strongly  resembling  guilt.  Others  had 
seen  him  on  his  return  from  the  fatal  ride,  without 
observing  any  embarrassment  or  abstraction. 

The  evidence  of  Miss  Leslie,  although  indirect, 
was  received  with  lively  marks  of  sympathy.  She 
had  met  her  brother,  on  his  arrival  from  the  after- 
noon ride,  and  had  particularly  remarked  his  health 
and  cheerfulness.  She  described  him  as  peculiarly 
gay,  having  been  one  of  a  party  of  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen who  walked  on  the  Battery  in  the  evening, 


226  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

and  discovering,  in  all  the  thousand  offices  of  cour- 
tesy, a  heart  entirely  at  rest. 

"  Oh,"  continued  the  young  and  lovely  girl,  en- 
thusiastic affection  quite  drowning  every  consider- 
ation of  personal  embarrassment,  "  they  who  be- 
lieve Norman  capable  of  committing  that  or  any 
other  crime,  little  know  his  character.  Even  sup- 
posing it  possible  in  a  moment  of  delirium,  it  is 
not  possible  that  afterward  he  could  be  so  natural 
and  easy,  so  completely  unembarrassed  and  happy. 
From  boyhood,  Norman  has  been  remarkable  for 
betraying  in  his  countenance  what  was  passing  in 
his  heart,  and  even  for  blushing  when  any  thing 
confused  him.  But  we  saw  no  kind  of  agitation 
whatever;  and  I  am  certain  that  he  could  not 
have  concealed  from  us,  had  any  secret  weighed 
upon — " 

"  This  is  all  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Germain,  who 
had  been  particularly  vehement  and  bitter  during 
the  whole  trial  against  everybody  and  every  thing 
tending  to  exculpate  the  prisoner — '.'  this  is  all  very 
well ;  but  I  ask  the  court  if  it  is  evidence.  The 
young  lady,  I  believe,  comes  here  as  witness,  not 
as  counsel." 

This  was  received — as  any  levity  that  breaks 
the  monotonous  solemnity  of  a  court  of  justice  is 
sure  to  be  received — with  a  slight  general  titter ; 
although  one  of  the  jurors  was  observed  to  pass 
his  fingers  hastily  over  his  glistening  eyes.  The 
prisoner  smiled  bitterly,  and  shook  his  head  as  if 
in  wonder.  Moreland  rose  for  the  first  time. 

"  May  it  please  the  court,"  cried  Moreland,  in  a 
voice  low  almost  to  a  whisper,  but  so  perceptibly 
tremulous  that  a  general  hush  succeeded  his  first 
words — "  may  it  please  the  court :  we  are  a  tribu- 
nal of  justice.  I  am  aware  we  are  judges,  jury, 
counsel,  and  spectators ;  and  from  such  assemblies 
I  know  it  is  proper  to  exclude  all  feeling.  But, 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  227 

nevertheless,  we  are— we  ought  to  be  men.  If  the 
prisoner  be  guilty — though  young,  proud,  beautiful, 
and  noble,  with  other  deep  hearts  wound  convul- 
sively around  him,  and  bound  up  in  him — yet,  if  he 
be  guilty,  let  him  die  the  death  of  violence  and 
ignominy." 

A  shudder  and  a  drawing  in  of  the  breath  was 
heard  from  the  sister,  like  that  of  the  victim  when 
the  edge  of  the  axe  first  glitters  before  his  eyes. 
The  spectators  grew  more  profoundly  motionless 
and  silent,  and  Moreland,  rising  and  warming  with 
his  emotions,  went  on  : — 

"I  would  not  from  private  feeling,  not  even 
from  private  opinion,  turn  aside  the  sword  of  pub- 
lic justice.  But  I  will  not,  I  dare  not,  I  cannot  sit 
silently  by,  and  behold  the  best  emotions  of  nature 
outraged,  ridiculed,  trampled  down,  by  the  habitual 
coldness  or  hardened  zeal  of  the  profession  to 
which  I  belong.  If  the  sister  of  this  unhappy  man 
in  her  secret  soul  believes  him  guilty,  still  her 
trembling  voice,  her  streaming  eyes,  her  woman's 
heart  raised  in  his  behalf,  demand  the  respect  and 
attention  of  a  civilized  people.  But  if  this  amiable 
and  lovely  girl  here  plead  for  the  life  of  a  brother, 
on  whose  utter  and  complete  innocence  she  relies 
as  she  has  faith  in  her  own  existence  and  in  her 
God,— if  she  possess  knowledge,  if  she  can  advance 
arguments  to  rescue  him  from  a  dishonourable  and 
untimely  grave,  or  even  to  relieve  her  own  broken 
heart  with  the  outpourings  of  its  swollen  and  ago- 
nized fulness, — let  the  hand  that  would  stay  her 
fall  palsied — let  the  tongue  that  would  deride  her 
blister.  The  motive  which  now  inspires  this  affec- 
tionate sister  to  throw  herself — timid  and  trem- 
bling woman  as  she  is — before  a  tribunal  of  jus- 
tice, and  before  such  a  crowd  as  now  hears  me,  to 
speak  in  defence  of  a  beloved  brother,  is  pure,  ex- 
alted, unalloyed,  and  noble;  and  in  the  name  of 


223  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

every  thing  good  and  generous, — in  the  name  of 
mercy,  of  charity, — in  the  name  of  woman,  I  claim 
for  her  protection  from  the  derision  and  sneers 
which  the  learned  gentlemen  on  the  other  side  of 
the  question  have  thought  it  not  beneath  them  to 
express  against  the  defence." 

A  burst  of  irrepressible  applause,  notwithstand- 
ing the  solemnity  of  the  place,  followed  this  out- 
flash  of  indignant  feeling ;  but  it  was  instantly  and 
sternly  silenced  and  rebuked  by  the  court,  who 
threatened  to  commit  immediately  to  prison  any 
one  guilty  of  such  a  contempt  in  future,  and  directed 
the  officers  to  be  watchful. 

The  prosecuting  counsel,  Mr.  Germain,  against 
whose  head  this  bolt  had  been  evidently  directed, 
rose,  rubbing  his  hands  with  a  distrustful  smile, 
and  a  confidential  look  along  the  jury. 

"  May  it  please  the  court — but  one  word,  your 
honour,"  he  said  ;  "  the  gentleman  misunderstands 
me.  My  heart  bleeds  as  well  as  his 'own  at  the 
sight  of  private  suffering ;  but  I  know  how  neces- 
sary it  is  in  matters  of  justice  to  guard  against 
personal  feeling.  Virtue  and  domestic  love  are 
beautiful  words ;  but  there  are  also  such  words  as 
law  and  justice.  I  perceive  the  artifice  of  the  in- 
genious counsel  in  producing  before  the  jury  the 
father  and  sister  of  the  prisoner,  to  soften  our 
hearts  and  inflame  our  feelings.  It  is  a  trick  of 
the  profession.  Legal  questions  should  be  dis- 
cussed only  by  the  light  of  reason.  They  require 
only  a  deliberate  and  unprejudiced  examination  of 
proof,  and  a  cold  knowledge  of  statutes — the 
colder  and  the  more  unfeeling,  the  better.  What- 
ever may  be  the  sufferings  of  the  prisoner  or  his 
family,  what  bearing  can  they  have,  ought  they  to 
have,  on  the  naked  question,  Ms  he  or  is  he  not 
guilty  ?'  In  respect  to  the  evidence  of  Miss  Les- 
lie, whom,  of  course,  we  are  bound  to  believe  very 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  229 

pure  in  her  intentions,  I  wish  only  to  restrict  her 
within  the  legal  limits  of  a  witness.  If  sisters 
turn  pleaders,  stealing  in  under  license  of  wit- 
nesses, a  new  and  most  dangerous  era  will  be  in- 
troduced into  our  jurisprudence.  Private  feeling, 
however  harrowing,  is  but  insignificant  when  com- 
pared with  the  public  good.  Neither  should  we 
forget  to  distinguish  between  the  pain  resulting 
directly  from  guilt  in  those  connected  with  the 
guilty  party,  and  that  inflicted  by  him  upon  others. 
The  parent  and  sister  of  the  unhappy  culprit  are 
not  the  only  bereaved  victims  of  this  crime  now 
within  hearing  of  my  voice.  The  grief-stricken 
heart  of  that  old  man,  whose  only  daughter  fell 
beneath  the  prisoner's  hand — have  we  no  sympa- 
thy with  his  dark  age,  with  his  deserted  hearth? 
Let  the  unfortunate  man  at  the  bar  regard  the 
wreck  he  has  caused  in  his  own  circle  with  feel- 
ings of  bitter  anguish,  and  may  Heaven  support 
him  under  the  trial !  But  we  have  nothing  to  see, 
nothing  to  feel,  but  whether,  on  the  proof  adduced, 
he  be  guilty  or  not  guilty." 

The  court  begged  that  nothing  more  might  be 
said  on  the  subject.  They  had  heard  the  counsel 
for  the  defence,  because  they  wished  to  extend  to- 
wards the  prisoner  every  possible  clemency,  and 
the  prosecution  had  a  certain  right  to  reply;  but 
the  question  respecting  the  evidence  of  the  witness 
was  unimportant.  She  must  be  allowed  to  relate 
her  statements  in  her  own  way ;  and  if,  from  her 
feelings  or  her  inexperience,  out  of  order,  she  would 
be  restrained  by  the  court. 

"  What  else  do  you  know  respecting  the  case  ?" 
inquired  Mr.  Loring  of  the  witness. 

"Nothing,"  was  the  reply,  and  thus  the  long 
debate  had  been  unnecessary. 

After  a  confused  mass  of  contradictory  testi- 
mony, Mr.  Loring  announced  his  intention  of  pro- 

VOL.  I. — U 


230  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

ducing  one  more  witness,  who  had  voluntarily 
come  forward  in  the  cause  of  innocence,  and  to 
prevent  the  unjust  effusion  of  human  blood — one 
whose  station  and  character  were  unimpeachably 
pure;  whose  motives  could  not  be  impugned  or 
traduced  ;  who  was  swayed 'neither  by  the  power 
of  domestic  love,  nor  by  any  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  prisoner;  a  lady,  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  families  in  the  city:  her 
testimony,  he  added,  would  be  conclusive.  It  had 
come  to  his  knowledge  by  accident,  and  only  this 
moment,  and  could  not  fail  to  acquit  the  prisoner. 

This  announcement  produced  much  excitement. 
The  judge  turned  to  gaze  with  an  eagerness  almost 
incompatible  with  his  dignity  ;  the  jury  looked 
anxiously  forward;  the  prosecuting  counsel  smiled 
shrewdly,  and  muttered  aloud,  "  A  new  device  of 
the  enemy;"  and  the  auditory  at  large  stretched 
their  necks  to  behold  the  new  comer,  whom  more 
than  one  pronounced  to  be  Miss  Romain  herself. 
Not  among  the  least  surprised  was  the  prisoner, 
who  leaned  forward  with  evident  curiosity.  The 
side-doors  being  opened,  a  female  enveloped  in  a 
close  bonnet  and  veil  entered,  and  took  her  seat  on 
the  witness's  stand. 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  231 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Hope  dawns. 


But  thou,  oh  Hope,  with  eyes  so  fair !" 

COLLINS. 


"  THE  gentleman  appears  peculiarly  favoured 
by  the  fair  sex,"  said  Mr.  Germain,  half  aloud. 

"  Is  it  another  sister  ?"  asked  a  juror. 

"No,"  replied  the  counsel,  quickly,  and,  in  a 
voice  too  low  to  be  distinctly  heard,  added  some- 
thing which  occasioned  a  laugh  among  those  im- 
mediately around  him,  and  even  from  one  or  two 
of  the  jurors. 

The  witness  was  narrowly  scrutinized  by  all 
eyes,  and,  though  wrapped  in  her  veil  and  bonnet, 
was  observed  to  shrink  at  thus  appearing  before 
the  public.  Her  step  faltered,  her  voice,  as  she 
replied  to  the  judge's  question  concerning  her 
name,  trembled,  and  was  so  low  as  to  render  her 
reply  at  first  unintelligible.  She  made  a  gesture, 
too,  of  faintness,  at  the  rude  laugh  directed  ap- 
parently against  herself. 

"  Sit  down,  madam,"  said  Moreland,  in  a  sooth- 
ing tone ;  "  you  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  What  is  the  young  lady's  name  ?"  asked  the 
judge. 

"Miss  Temple  —  Flora  Temple,"  answered 
Moreland;  thus  kindly  furnishing  her  time  to  re- 
cover her  voice  and  composure. 


232  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  from  the  prisoner 
announced  that  to  him  her  name  brought  astonish- 
ment. He  stirred,  changed  his  position,  and  leaned 
forward. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  Miss  Temple,"  said  Mr. 
Loring ;  "  take  your  own  time  to  reply.  You  are 
a  resident  of  New- York  ?  You  are  daughter  of 
Mr.  Herman  Temple  ?  You  are  acquainted  with 
the  prisoner  ?" 

These  and  one  or  two  other  similar  interrogato- 
ries were  put  by  the  careful  counsel  in  order  to 
lead  the  witness  from  her  embarrassment.  They 
were  answered,  at  first,  in  a  voice  almost  inau- 
dible. 

"  Louder,  louder,"  said  Mr.  Germain.  "  If  the 
young  lady  will  have  the  kindness  to  speak  louder, 
we  may  at  least  hear  what  this  wonderful  se- 
cret is." 

"  You  are  acquainted  with  the  prisoner  ?"  said 
Mr.  Loring. 

"  I  have  known  him  for  some  years,"  was  the 
reply,  in  a  tone  much  more  loud  and  distinct,  but 
so  soft  and  full  of  music  that  a  murmur  of  interest 
was  heard  in  her  behalf. 

"Are  you  related  to  him  in  any  way?"  asked 
Germain. 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  Are  you  likely,  or  rather  have  you  ever  been 
likely  to  be  ?"  added  Germain,  bluntly,  and  with 
another  laugh. 

"  The  witness  is  ours,"  said  Moreland ;  "  and  I 
must  again  beg  and  entreat  of  the  court  protection 
from  derision." 

"  Have  you  any  interest  in  the  result  of  this 
cause  ?"  asked  Loring. 

11  Oh  yes,  yes !"  was  the  answer. 

"  Then,  may  it  please  the  court,"  said  Germain, 
starting  up, "  I  move  that-—" 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  233 

"She  is  interested  only,  as  we  are  all  inter- 
ested, in  the  triumph  of  truth,"  said  Moreland. 

"  You  are  putting  words  into  the  witness's 
mouth,"  interrupted  Germain. 

A  brisk  interchange  of  elocution  here  took 
place,  too  common  in  courts  of  justice,  when  every 
trivial  point  is  attacked  and  defended  with  the 
thunder  of  battle-axe  and  the  clash  of  swords,  and 
the  most  unjust  devices  of  ingenuity  (in  other  trans- 
actions what  would  it  be  termed  ?)  are  not  aban- 
doned without  a  skirmish.  Lawyers'  tongues  are 
sharp  as  soldiers'  swords,  and  sometimes  cut  as 
deep ;  and  wo  betide  the  modest,  the  pure,  the  de- 
fenceless, who  come  between  the  "great  opposites" 
in  the  keen  excitement  of  an  interesting  case.  It 
would  not  be  fair  to  advance  this  charge  against 
the  whole  American  bar,  but  there  is  too  much 
truth  in  it.  Great  is  the  praise,  therefore,  due  to 
those  who  redeem  the  character  of  the  profession 
by  a  more  moderate  and  generous  course,  who 
pursue  their  client's  interest  only  as  far  as  sanc- 
tioned by  propriety  and  honour ;  and  who,  in  the 
most  absorbing  interest  of  their  pursuit,  preserve 
a  reverence  for  truth,  and  never,  never  offend  the 
delicacy  due  to  woman.  Yet  the  most  honest 
witness  in  a  court  of  justice  frequently  finds  him- 
self stung  with  sarcasms,  attacked  with  the  bitter- 
ness of  malice,  flatly  charged  with  perjury,  over- 
whelmed with  odium,  and  dismissed  with  disgrace 
from  a  station  to  which  the  court  has  forced  him, 
after  delivering  testimony,  perhaps,  the  most  re- 
pugnant to  his  own  private  feelings  ;  and  for  this 
degradation,  neither  the  law  nor  the  customs  of 
society  offer  redress. 

"  Have  you  any  personal,  any  pecuniary  interest 
in  the  event  of  this  action  ?"  asked  the  counsel. 

"  Oh  no,  no  !"  replied  Miss  Temple. 

M  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Loring,  "  pray  tell  the 
u2 


234  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

jury,  in  a  distinct  voice,  what  you  know  of  the 
prisoner." 

"  I  have  met  Mr.  Leslie  frequently  in  company, 
and  at  my  father's  house.  His  manners  have  been 
always  gentle,  and  his  character  high  and  noble ; 
certainly  the  character  of  a  man  quite,  quite  in- 
capable of—" 

Germain  rose.  Moreland  rose  also.  The  judge 
sternly  commanded  both  to  be  seated. 

"  You  say  you  know  the  prisoner's  character  to 
be  good  ?" 

» I  do." 

"  Were  you  acquainted  with  Rosalie  Remain  ?n 

"I  was." 

"Familiarly?" 

"  Quite  so." 

"  What  was  her  character?" 

Flora  looked  down  at  the  unhappy  father,  and 
hesitated ;  but,  remembering  the  imperative  nature 
of  her  duty,  continued, — 

"  She  was  light,  and  very  eccentric." 

"Do  you  believe  her,  from  what  you  know, 
capable  of  so  remarkable  a  measure  as  eloping  ?" 

"  I  do.  She  wanted  steadiness  of  mind,  and 
was  actuated  by  sudden  impulses." 

"  Were  you  familiarly  acquainted  with  her 
features  ?" 

"  Quite  familiarly.  Her  appearance  and  face 
were  very  peculiar.  She  was  tall,  graceful,  ma- 
jestic, and  very  beautiful." 

Mr.  Romain,  who  had  followed  the  testimony  of 
this  witness  with  mute  and  strained  attention,  now 
leaned  his  forehead  on  the  table,  wept,  and  mur- 
mured, "  My  child,  my  child !" 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  judge. 

"  The  afternoon  on  which  she  was  said  to  have 
been  murdered,  I  was  one  of  a  party  walking 
rather  late  in  the  evening  on  the  Battery.  The 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  235 

gentleman  who  happened  to  be  my  companion 
led  me  from  the  rest  towards  the  water-side,  to 
behold  an  effect  of  the  light  on  the  opposite  shore." 
"  Tell  who  the  gentleman  was,"  said  Mr.  Ger- 
main. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Leslie,  the  prisoner." 
"  Oh  ho!  I  see  through  this  !"  muttered  Germain, 
laughing  and  rubbing  his  hands  knowingly. 

"  It  was  an  uncommonly  clear  moonlight  even- 
ing ;  and  while  we  gazed  at  the  light,  I  saw  very 
distinctly  Rosalie  Remain." 

"  God  of  heaven !"  cried  Mr.  Remain,  rising  sud- 
denly ;  "  this  has  crossed  me  before.  My  blessed 
young  lady,  are  you  sure  ?" 

"  Mr.  Remain,"  said  the  court,  affected  evidently, 
but  with  an  effort,  "  we  must  endeavour  to  sup- 
press these  sudden  bursts  of  feeling ;  they  greatly 
impede  the  proceedings." 

But  the  contagion  of  surprise  had  passed  through 
the  whole  audience.  There  was  a  general  pause — 
a  movement  and  agitated  commotion,  quelled  not 
without  some  delay  and  difficulty.  The  prisoner 
had  started  on  his  feet. 

"Proceed,  Miss  Temple,"  said  Mr.  Loring. 
"  You  saw  Miss  Remain  ?" 

"  Wrapped  in  a  veil.  She  saw  us,  started,  and 
turned  away." 

Mr.  Loring  rose.  "  I  have  produced  this  wit- 
ness, may  it  please  the  court,  to  establish  beyond 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt"  (with  that  deliberate  em- 
phasis familiar  to  lawyers)  "  the  innocence  of  the 
prisoner.  She  is  an  unimpeachable  witness.  We 
rest  our  defence.  I  yield  her  to  the  ingenuity  of 
our  learned  opponents.  They  will,  doubtless,  en- 
deavour to  bewilder  and  distress  her  ;  but  I  repose 
with  unshaken  confidence  in  the  result  of  this  im- 
portant testimony.  Far  from  the  prisoner's  having 
been  guilty  of  murder,  it  appears  that  no  murder 


236  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

has  been  committed  at  all.    The  witness,  gentle- 
men, is  yours." 

It  is  a  painfully  interesting  moment  when  the 
witness,  whose  testimony,  if  left  as  it  has  been  de- 
livered, would  certainly  acquit  the  being  trembling 
with  every  tone  of  her  voice  for  his  life,  is  turned 
over  to  the  destroying  malignity  of  the  other  party. 
The  fabric,  apparently  impregnable,  in  which  the 
persecuted,  hunted  down  prisoner  has  taken  refuge, 
becomes  the  scene  of  a  furious  attack.  Blow  after 
blow,  all  the  heavy  machinery  of  wit,  cunning,  and 
learning  are  brought  to  play  upon  it,  till,  yielding 
to  fate,  its  gates  broken  in,  its  foundations  under- 
mined, at  length  it  falls  to  the  ground. 

"  This  is  a  ghost-story,"  said  Germain,  with  an 
incredulous  smile.  "  Let  us  see,  miss,  if  we  can- 
not unravel  the  mystery." 

And  the  lively  interest  of  all  present,  including 
Mr.  Loring,  notwithstanding  his  "  unshaken  confi- 
dence," acknowledged  their  strongly  excited  curi- 
osity. 

"  You  say,"  said  Germain,  with  a  taunting,  sneer- 
ing air,  "  that  you  were  walking  with  the  prisoner 
when  you  beheld  this  apparition  ?" 

"  I  have  not  referred  to  any  apparition,"  said 
the  witness,  quietly. 

"Oh  ho !  we  congratulate  your  reviving  spirits. 
When  you  saw  Rosalie  Romain,  then,  if  you  prefer 
that  form  of  expression?" 

"  I  said  so,  sir." 

".  And  pray  what  time  was  it  ?"  with  a  look  and 
almost  a  wink  at  the  jury. 

"  The  clock  had  struck  nine." 

"  Ah,  after  nine  at  night !  And  the  phantom  was 
accompanied  by  whom  ?" 

"  By  another  female." 

"  You  saw  Rosalie  Romain,  after  nine  o'clock  at 
night,  with  another  female  !  Well,  upon  my  word, 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  237 

young  lady,  this  is  a  probable  story !    What  was 
she  doing  there  ?     Riding  on  a  broomstick  ?" 
"  She  was  doing  nothing.     She  passed  us." 
"Veiled?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  thickly  veiled." 
"  Your  eyes,  I  presume,"  with  another  sly  wink 
to  the  jury,  "  possess  some  extraordinary  organic 
power  above  those  of  common  mortals,  not  gifted 
with  the  privilege  of  seeing  phantoms.  So  you 
recognised  Rosalie  Remain  through  the  folds  of  a 
thick  veil  and  in  the  darkness  of  night !  More 
men  in  buckram,  gentlemen." 

"  Passing  a  lamp,  the  glare  fell  on  her  face.  She 
drew  the  veil  aside  a  moment,  as  she  came  near ; 
then  covering  herself  again  hastily,  quickened  her 
step,  and  was  immediately  out  of  sight." 

"  Oh,  that  was  very  kind  in  her,  to  let  you  see 
her  face,  was  it  not  t  You  have  told  a  probable 
and  very  interesting  story — very  romantic  at  least. 
What  did  the  prisoner  do  all  this  time  ? .  Did  he 
say  nothing?" 

The  witness  was  silent. 

"  Ah !  he  said  something  you  are  unwilling  to 
reveal.  Come,  what  was  it  ?  Remember,  you 
are  on  oath — the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  no- 
thing but  the  truth." 

"  He  said,"  replied  the  witness,  in  a  lower  tone, 
"  that  he  did  not  think  the  person  we  had  seen  was 
Miss  Remain." 

"  Oh  ho !  now  you  are  coming  to  the  crisis.  So 
the  prisoner  did  not  think  the  person  you  had  seen 
was  Rosalie  Remain  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"And  you  did?" 

"I  did." 

"And  do?" 

«  And  do." 

«  Who  saw  her  first  ?n 


238  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"Mr.  Leslie." 

"  Ah  ha !    And  pointed  her  out  to  you  t" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  then  immediately  rejected  the  idea,^  as  if 
he  knew  the  impossibility  of  her  being  there?" 

"  He  exhibited  no  certainty ;  he  said,  indiffer- 
ently, it  could  not  possibly  be  her." 

"  Ah  ha  !  so,  so !  As  I  said,  you  see,  gentle- 
men. Pray,  madam,  have  you  ever  been  con- 
tracted in  marriage  1" 

"  No,  sir." 

"You  must  excuse  me  if  I  enter  a  little  into 
particulars.  Have  you  ever  been  under  any  en- 
gagement of  matrimony  ?" 

"  Never." 

"  Perfectly  free  ?     Has  Mr.  Leslie  never—" 

Again  Moreland  interfered.  Again  Germain 
defended  his  question. 

"  What  do  the  prosecution  wish  to  prove  ?" 
asked  the  judge. 

"  That  this  worthy  young  lady,"  said  Germain, 
"  who  may  be  honest  enough  in  the  ordinary  affairs 
of  life,  comes  here  now,  under  the  influence  of 
strong  feelings  of  love,  to  save  a  man  whom — " 
"  1  protest !"  said  Moreland. 

"  I  insist !"  said  Germain. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  impeach  the  testimony  of  this 
witness  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

Flora  trembled  and  shrank.  The  prisoner  rose 
again ;  his  eyes  flashed  upon  Germain  a  look  of 
such  withering  anger,  that  the  lawyer  quailed  a 
moment  beneath  its  fire. 

Moreland  begged  the  interference  of  the  court. 

"  We  wish  to  show,  may  it  please  the  court," 
added  Germain,  "  that  the  young  lady  is  about  as 
disinterested  a  witness  as  the  learned  gentleman  is 
a  counsel — the  one  testifying  for  her  lover,  the 
other  pleading  for  his  friend." 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  230 

"  Order,  gentlemen  !"  cried  the  judge. 

"  And  what,"  resumed  Germain,  "  is  this  love- 
sick young  lady  and  her  affections,  which  the  next 
breeze  will  bear  away — what  are  her  pretty 
sensibilities  to  the  great  cause  and  majesty  of 
public  justice,  to  the  proper  administration  of  laws, 
and  to  purging  the  commonwealth  from  the  stain 
of  black  and  hateful  crimes  !  I  do  not  mean,  may 
it  please  your  honour,  to  charge  this  young  lady 
with  perjury;  but  I  do  mean  to  suggest  that  a 
sentiment  of  love  has  existed,  and  still  exists,  be- 
tween the  witness  and  the  prisoner  ;  that  her  feel- 
ings warp  her  judgment,  and  have  presented  to  her 
what  she  desires  to  have  seen  rather  than  what 
she  saw.  Some  remote  resemblance  between  a 
night-wandering  female  on  the  Battery  and  the 
deceased  struck  her  eye,  and  is  now  remembered 
in  this  emergency.  If  there  were  probability  in 
her  conjecture,  probability  even  to  seize  upon  the 
memory  of  the  wretched  culprit  himself,  why  has 
this  witness  been  delayed  so  long?  Why  was  it 
left  to  the  discovery  of  accident?  Why  did  not 
the  prisoner  call  upon  her  to  advance  ?  Why  was 
she  not  subpoenaed  by  the  defence  ?  A  love-sick 
girl,  with  her  head  full  of  novels,  and  her  heart — " 

The  prisoner  once  more  rose  and  interrupted 
the  speaker  with  a  haughty  and  determined  air, 
and,  in  a  voice  deep  and  rich,  that  sounded 
strangely  impressive  in  the  sudden  hush,  said, — 

"  Being  here  a  defenceless  man,  I  invoke  the  aid 
of  the  court  against  these  attacks  upon  my  friends. 
I  solicit  no  sympathy  or  mercy  on  my  own  part. 
I  yield  my  blood  to  the  demands  of  fate  and  of 
mistaken  justice.  But,  as  the  last  request  of  a 
doomed,  a  dying,  and  an  innocent  man,  I  entreat 
that  the  malignity  which  animates  the  learned 
gentlemen  of  the  prosecution  may  pour  out  its  ex- 
clusive fury  on  my  head.  I  entreat  that  those  who 


240  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

appear  in  my  behalf  be  protected  from  unjust  sus- 
picion and  wanton  insult.  There  never  has  been 
any  such  sentiment  as  the  learned  gentleman  has 
so  frequently  referred  to  exchanged  between  that 
young  lady  and  myself.  On  the  contrary,  she  has 
uniformly  treated  me  with  the  utmost  reserve,  and 
I  am  most  unwilling  that  she  should  now  suffer  for 
her  magnanimity  in  appearing  before  a  tribunal 
where  the  modesty  of  woman  is  so  little  .respected, 
and  in  favour  of  one  who  to  her  has  always  been, 
and  must  ever  be,  less  than  nothing." 

He  sat  down  with  flashing  eyes,  but  a  fierce  and 
proud  demeanour ;  and  there  had  been  such  a  fas- 
cination in  the  smooth,  fierce,  and  indignant  flow 
of  his  words,  and  in  the  deep  vehemence,  feeling, 
and  solemnity  of  his  face,  voice,  and  manner,  and 
such  interest  was  universally  experienced  to  hear 
what  he  had  to  say,  that  he  was  not  interrupted. 
But  immediately  on  his  close,  his  interference  was 
pronounced  out  of  order,  and  the  stir  following  his 
words  was  with  some  difficulty  quieted.  The 
witness  drew  her  veil  closer  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  but  said  nothing,  and  awaited  motionless 
the  next  interrogation. 

"  I  have  only  one  or  two  more  questions,"  said 
Mr.  Germain.  "  Can  you  swear,  Miss  Temple — 
but,"  he  added,  abruptly,  "  I  will  thank  you  to  put 
aside  your  veil.  I  cannot  examine  a  witness  pro- 
perly without  seeing  her  face." 

Miss  Temple,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation, 
completely  and,  for  the  first  time,  fully  revealed  to 
the  spectators  the  features  of  an  exquisitely  lovely 
young  creature,  beautiful  beyond  description.  Her 
light  auburn  hair  parted  with  simplicity  on  her 
forehead,  a  pair  of  large,  tender  blue  eyes,  droop- 
ing beneath  the  general  gaze,  and  lifted  only  once, 
as  if  to  glance  reproachfully  upon  the  countenance 
of  the  harsh  querist.  Modesty  and  sweetness 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  241 

were  expressed  upon  her  face  with  the  most  grace- 
ful and  feminine  charm.  All  eyes  regarded  her 
with  strong  and  new  sympathy  and  admiration. 
Some  surprise  was  manifested  at  her  extreme  pale* 
ness.  The  prisoner  riveted  his  eyes  on  her  a  few 
moments  with  an  expression  of  deep  melancholy, 
and  then  leaned  down  his  forehead  upon  his  hand 
in  silence. 

Germain,  who,  by  his  rudeness,  had  given  the 
unconsciously  beautiful  girl  this  decided  advan- 
tage over  him,  found  himself  in  the  situation  of  a 
warrior,  who,  pressing  his  pursuit  too  eagerly,  sinks 
into  some  snare  of  the  enemy.  He  was  himself 
slightly  surprised  and  embarrassed  at  the  sweet- 
ness and  refinement  of  her  towards  whom  he  had 
exhibited  so  little  tenderness,  and  it  seemed  that 
his  conscience  smote  him. 

"  You  will  pardon  my  abruptness,  my  dear 
young  lady,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  truly  sorry  that  duty 
compels  me  to  put  painful  questions.  You  must 
inform  the  jury  whether  you  have  been  always 
entirely  free  from  matrimonial  engagements  with 
the  prisoner." 

"  The  question  is  not  painful  to  me,"  replied  she> 
in  a  mild  and  slightly  tremulous  tone.  "  Nothing 
of  the  kind  has  ever  taken  place  between  Mr.  Les- 
lie and  myself;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  always 
understood  that  Mr.  Leslie  was  attached  to  Miss 
Romain." 

u  And  do  you  believe  it  ?" 

"I  do." 

"  One  more  question — and  remember,  young 
lady,  you  are  on  your  oath,  and  that  the  Creator  of 
all  things  sees  your  heart.  Tell  me  now,  solemnly* 
are  you  prepared  to  swear  actually,  absolutely,  and 
positively,  that  the  person  you  saw,  on  the  night  of 
the  supposed  murder,  was  Rosalie  Romain  ?  can 
swear  to  this,  to  a  certainty  ?" 

VOL.  I. — X 


242  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

"  I  can  swear  to  nothing,"  replied  the  witness, 
"  with  actual  certainty ;  but — " 

"  She  cannot  swear  with  certainty  /"  cried  Ger- 
main, triumphantly,  turning  to  the  jury. 

"She  cannot  swear  with  certainty!"  echoed 
one. 

"  She  cannot  swear  with  certainty !"  reiterated 
another. 

"But  I  clearly  think  so,"  cried  the  witness, 
with  a  faint  attempt  not  to  be  borne  down  by  the 
undiscriminating  vehemence  of  her  opponents. 

"  She  only  thinks — she  only  fancies,"  interrupted 
Germain;  "it  is  precisely  as  I  thought,  a  mere 
conjecture.  You  see,  gentlemen,  after  all,  this 
important  witness  is  nothing — nothing  whatever." 

Some  other  questions  were  advanced  in  turn  by 
either  party,  but  nothing  new  was  elicited.  After 
the  examination  of  two  or  three  witnesses,  to  settle 
and  define  several  minor  points,  the  evidence  was 
closed,  and  the  counsel  for  the  defence  addressed 
the  jury. 

It  rarely  happens  that  two  advocates  upon  the 
same  evidence  can  frame  appeals  very  different 
from  each  other.  Yet  perhaps  few  instances  could 
be  produced  where  speeches  were  made  more 
opposite  in  their  nature  than  those  now  heard  from, 
the  two  counsel  for  the  prisoner.  Mr.  Loring  was 
cool,  technical,  and  wary.  He  examined  the 
proof,  item  after  item,  with  a  cautious  hand  and  a 
keen  eye,  but  yet  with  a  sophistry  which  his  oppo- 
nents knew  how  to  counteract  by  similar  wea- 
pons. 

Moreland  took  a  higher  ground ;  and  the  con- 
tagious sympathy  and  confidence  which  he  had  now 
fully  imbibed  himself  kindled  a  kindred  fire  in  the 
bosoms  of  his  hearers.  He  did  not  fail  also  to 
•persuade  reason  by  deliberate  examination  of  the 
proof,  but  it  was  with  the  ardour  of  one  who  felt 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  243 

and  believed  what  he  asserted.  His  able  and  elo- 
quent discourse  was  listened  to  with  the  profound- 
est  attention.  The  jurors  sometimes  nodded  their 
heads  in  acquiescence,  and  sometimes,  by  their 
countenance,  expressed  surprise  and  pleasure  at 
the  unexpected  inferences  which,  under  his  acute 
and  ingenious  intelligence,  many  points  in  proof 
were  made  to  yield.  Several  facts,  apparently 
most  fatal  to  the  prisoner,  were  now  presented  in 
a  light  so  new  as  to  elucidate  his  innocence  ;  and 
long  before  he  had  finished  with  a  technical  con- 
sideration of  the  testimony,  he  had  awakened  in 
every  breast  a  lively  confidence  in  the  innocence 
of  the  prisoner,  and  had  thrown  about  him  a  kind 
of  interest  like  the  halo  of  a  martyr. 

Horse-racing,  theatres,  and  gambling  enchain 
men  by  their  excitement ;  but  it  may  be  questioned 
whether  any  can  exceed  the  interest  with  which  a 
mind  fully  understanding  the  bearings  of  a  case, 
and f  interested  from  affection,  or  even  ordinary 
sympathy,  follows  the  perpetual  and  sudden  vicis- 
situdes in  the  course  of  such  a  trial.  It  presents 
a  continued  and  striking  series  of  changes  ;  rapid 
and  shifting  alternations  of  light  and  shadow,  of 
tempest,  calm,  and  sunshine — a  vast,  deep,  wild 
ebb  and  flow  of  hope.  The  future  changes,  and 
brightens,  and  sinks  in  gloom,  as  facts  break 
through  the  mist,  and  melt  away  again  with  the 
breath  of  the  witness  or  the  magic  of  the  orator. 
The  truth  resembles  a  mountain-peak  enveloped 
in  clouds  :  now  the  billowy  vapours  bury  its 
sharp  outlines  in  gloom  ;  again  the  breeze  wafts 
them  away,  and  leaves  its  airy  and  unbroken  sum- 
mit shining  in  the  sun.  Thus  had  the  prospect  of 
the  prisoner,  his  character  and  his  crime,  appeared 
to  the  spectators  and  jury,  till,  under  the  trans- 
forming wand  of  Moreland,  they  beheld  the  dark- 
ness vanish.  The  prisoner  himself  was  softened. 


244  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

His  noble  and  handsome  face  yielded  to  the  illu- 
mination of  hope  and  joy.  Mr.  Remain  went  up 
to  him  and  spoke  words  of  kindness ;  and  the 
sister  and  father  hung  breathless  and  almost  gasp- 
ing upon  the  music  and  the  magic  of  the  speaker's 
lips. 

"  Gentlemen,"  continued  the  orator,  "  at  length, 
at  this  late  hour,  exhausted  as  you  must  be 
with  your  arduous  duties,  perhaps  I  should  desist 
from  further  trespassing  on  your  time.  But  I 
remember  with  a  shudder  that  mine  are  the  last 
words  of  defence  and  of  hope  which  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar  may  ever  hear.  I  start  at  the  tremen- 
dous responsibility,  and  almost  sink  beneath  it. 
But  faith,  hope,  justice,  and  mercy  whisper  me  to 
proceed.  The  life  of  an  innocent  human  being,  of 
an  amiable  and  affectionate  son,  of  a  beloved  bro- 
ther, of  a  citizen  of  this  republic,  is  at  stake.  It  is 
my  sacred  duty  to  defend  ;  it  is  your  solemn  pro- 
vince to  judge.  A  word  from  your  lips  launches 
him  into  eternity.  If  he  be  guilty,  I  do  not  ask  his 
life.  Though  his  sister's  heart  will  break  at  the 
blow, — though  his  father's  silvery  forehead  will 
bend  down  to  a  dishonoured  grave, — though  a 
youth,  invested  with  a  thousand  noble  qualities, 
will  be  cut  off  from  repentance  and  hope  for  ever, 
— yet,  if  he  be  guilty,  I  do  not  ask  his  life.  But, 
by  your  own  hopes  as  fathers,  as  friends,  as  m&ft — 
by  the  peace  which  you  love  on  your  pillow  and  in 
your  dying  hour — by  the  sanctity  of  innocence  and 
the  rebuking  anger  of  Heaven — I  conjure  you  to 
pause  and  tremble  ere  you  do  find  him  guilty.  It 
has  been  alleged  against  me  this  day  that  I  am 
privately  a  friend  to  the  prisoner.  It  has  been 
charged  upon  me  as  an  odium,  in  ridicule  and 
scorn.  I  appeal  to  your  own  bosoms :  who  so 
well  as  a  friend  should  be  able  to  judge  of  his  char- 
acter ?  who  so  well  know  his  ways  of  thinking  and 


NORMAN    LESLIE.  245 

acting  ?  Is  friendship  to  be  a  stigma — as  we  have 
this  day  beheld  the  heart-broken  love  of  a  sister — 
a  jest,  and  a  mockery  ? 

"  As  for  my  own  belief,  I  solemnly  declare  be- 
fore you,  and  before  Him  who  knows  all  hearts, 
that,  after  the  most  indefatigable  examination  of  the 
circumstances  during  a  much  longer  period  of 
time  than  you  have  been  able  to  devote,  I  believe 
the  accused  totally  innocent.  When  you  consider, 
gentlemen,  the  extraordinary  facts  of  the  case ;  the 
character  of  the  prisoner  ;  the  accidental  and 
public  nature  of  the  fatal  and  mysterious  ride  ;  his 
demeanour  subsequently ;  the  fact  that  Miss  Tem- 
ple saw  Rosalie  Remain  in  the  evening; — you  must 
acknowledge  that  his  guilt  is  doubtful.  The  black- 
est doubt  still  hangs  upon  the  whole  affair.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  the  murder  has  been  committed  ; 
it  is  doubtful  whether  the  prisoner  is  the  perpe- 
trator. Miss  Remain  might  have  fallen  by  another 
hand ;  she  may  have  perished  by  her  own ;  she 
may  have  fled.  The  law  commands  you  only  to- 
find  a  verdict  in  case  of  certainty ;  are  you  cer- 
tain ?  Are  you  even  certain  that  Rosalie  Romain 
is  dead  ?  Who  has  identified  the  body  ?  Is  there 
a  single  person  who  can  prove  her  decease  ?  Miss 
Romain,  at  some  future  time,  may  reappear  before 
you.  What  horror  would  shade  your  future 
years !  I  call  upon  you  now,  while  yet  in  your 
power,  to  save  your  souls  from  such  a  grievous 
burden.  I  warn  you  of  the  innocence  of  the  pris- 
oner. In  a  few  moments  you  will  be  compelled 
to  decide.  The  doom  of  death,  gentlemen,  is 
mighty,  is  tremendous,  is  irrevocable.  You  may 
extinguish  a  light  which  can  never  be  relumed ; 
you  may,  in  one  moment,  perpetrate  an  action 
which  all  the  years  of  your  future  life  may  be  too 
short  and  too  few  to  sufficiently  regret.  Before  I 
yield  the  floor  to  my  adversaries,  let  me  also  warn 
x  2 


246  NORMAN    LESLIE. 

you  against  their  ardour  and  their  sophistry. 
They  possess  the  prerogative  of  directing  against 
you  the  last  appeal.  I  tremble  lest  the  cunning  of 
art  and  eloquence  may  baffle  and  blind  the  truth. 
I  have  already  shuddered  to  hear  the  noblest  vir- 
tues derided.  They  have  already  told  you  that 
education,  refinement,  a  warm  heart,  and  an  un- 
spotted character  are  the  attributes  of  crime  and 
the  signals  for  suspicion.  I  watch  the  progress  of 
their  insidious  attacks  upon  your  reason  with  the 
most  unalloyed  and  intolerable  solicitude  and  dis- 
tress. Error,  gentlemen,  may  lurk  on  either  side ; 
but  the  error  of  one  is  ghastly  and  fatal,  damning 
to  yourselves  and  all  concerned  ;  while  that  of  the 
other — if,  indeed,  error  there  be-^would,  even  in 
its  fallacy,  approach  the  benign  spirit  of  that  Re- 
deemer who  looked  with  pity  upon  the  woes  of 
earth,  and  who  said,  even  unto  the  most  abai> 
doned, '  Go,  and  sin  no  more.' " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

The  Verdict-^Midnight  Scene  in  a  Court  of  Justice. 


"Hark!     Hush!     Be  still!     They  come. 
One  moment,  and  'tis  o'er." 

IT  is  a  mournful  thing  to  turn  from  the  last  cling- 
ing hope  and  defence  of  the  accused,  to  the  cold, 
severe,  exaggerating  attacks  of  the  prosecution. 
Perhaps  there  never  was  a  case  upon  a  capital 
offence,  where  the  eloquence  and  ingenuity  of  the 
defendant's  counsel  did  not  strike  out  upon  the 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  247 

misery  of  the  accused  some  bright  sparks  of  hope. 
The  mass  of  evidence  cannot  be  borne  in  mind  at 
once.  A  perception  of  the  truth  often  requires  a 
series  of  deliberate  and  abstruse  arguments,  which 
the  audience  never  discover,  or  fail  to  retain  amid 
the  confusion  of  evidence  and  the  instinct  of  mercy. 
The  sight  of  a  criminal,  too,  when  his  punishment 
seems  certain,  softens  the  heart  to  pity,  and  pre- 
pares it  to  magnify  and  dwell  upon  the  grounds  of 
hope.  An  ingenious  orator,  in  an  artful  survey  of 
the  case,  lingers  with  disproportionate  force  upon 
the  favourable  circumstances,  and  leaves  the  more 
unexplainable  and  condemnatory  parts  in  the 
shade.  For  a  moment  the  sky  of  the  accused 
brightens ;  the  roaring  of  the  tempest  is  lulled ; 
his  half-wrecked  mind  rests  as  the  surrounding  sea 
of  doubt  and  despair  closes  its  yawning  abysses, 
and  he  beholds  again  the  green  and  sunny  shore 
where  safety  and  bliss  await  his  weary  steps.  Ab, 
delusive  calm  !  ah,  treacherous  hope  !  An  awful 
pause  succeeds  the  words  of  mercy  and  hope. 
Dreadful  the  task  of  him  who  has  to  dissolve  this 
vision ! 

The  prosecution  commenced  their  duty.  As  their 
skilful  batteries  were  opened  against  the  victim,  the 
brightness  passed  from  his  features ;  one  after  an- 
other his  hopes  melted  away ;  the  relentless  tem- 
pest darkened  over  his  head  ;  the  mad  wind  began 
to  roar  and  thunder  in  the  air ;  his  broken  hulk 
once  more  hung  on  the  uplifted  and  giant  wave  ; 
the  distant  shore  receded  from  his  despairing  eyes, 
and  he  felt  that  ruin  and  death  again  yawned  be- 
neath his  feet. 

Two  experienced,  unfeeling,  and  sagacious  law- 
yers exhausted  their  powers  in  demonstrating  the 
guilt  of  the  accused,  in  which  they  both  fully  and 
conscientiously  believed.  Germain  wove  around 
him  the  meshes  of  sophistry,  and  rendered  it  once 


248  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

more  a  glaring  certainty ;  and  the  district  attorney 
closed  with  a  startling  eloquence. 

The  orator  allowed  the  prisoner's  apparent 
good  character ;  allowed  the  horrid  spectacle  of  a 
youth  so  formed  to  adorn  society  cut  off  and 
crushed  beneath  a  fate  so  terrible.  But  these  con- 
siderations, he  said,  severely,  were  not  for  the 
jury-box.  Let  them  deepen  the  interest  of  a  poem, 
or  embellish  the  pages  of  a  novel ;  but  a  tribunal 
of  justice  had  a  sterner  task  than  the  indulgence  of 
feeling,  however  amiable.  That  the  murder  had 
been  committed,  every  circumstance  proclaimed. 
The  ride ;  the  disappearance ;  the  blood-stained 
handkerchief;  the  hat  floating  abandoned  on  the 
stream  ;  the  body — as  far  as  the  testimony  of 
credible  witnesses  go — identified  as  that  of  Rosa- 
lie Remain ;  the  confusion  of  the  assassin ;  his 
conduct  on  the  arrest ;  the  evidence  of  the  female 
domestic,  respecting  the  demeanour  of  the  unfor- 
tunate victim ;  her  clandestinely  meeting  the  pris- 
oner at  that  suspicious  hour  of  the  morning ; — 
every  thing,  as  far  as  human  proof  could,  pro- 
claimed the  dreadful  act,  and  the  deep  cunning  of 
the  prisoner.  "  What  proof  can  you  demand  of 
murder  ?  It  is  a  deed  which  the  perpetrator  com- 
mits alone.  He  comes  not  into  the  broad  streets, 
where  positive  evidence  can  be  produced  against 
him.  He  steals,  with  stealthy  pace,  in  darkness 
and  solitude  ;  he  disguises  his  intention  under 
smiles  and  the  mask  of  virtue ;  he  plants  the  dag- 
ger in  a  moment  unseen  by  all — by  all  but  his 
avenging  God.  Murder  rarely  admits  evidence 
stronger  than  that  produced  against  this  man.  If 
you  acquit  him  upon  the  principle  of  doubt,  future 
assassins  have  only  to  stab  in  solitude  and  they  will 
stab  in  safety.  We  shall  behold  shameless  sedu- 
cers and  murderers  walking  among  us  unwhipped 
of  justice.  Leave  crime  unpunished,  and  you 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  249 

open  the  floodgates  through  which  devastation  and 
despair  rush  in  upon  the  retreats  of  domestic  life. 
The  pity  which  makes  you  tremble  at  inflicting  a 
necessary  penalty,  which  causes  you  to  yield  to 
the  pleadings  of  compassion,  and  to  melt  at  the 
sight  of  guilt  bound  on  the  altar — to  forget  law, 
society,  the  claims  of  the  innocent,  and  the  just 
indignation  and  agony  of  the  bereaved,  rather 
than  speak  the  word  and  strike  the  blow  to  which 
you  have  pledged  your  oaths,  and  which  great 
justice  demands — is  a  weak,  an  idle,  a  pernicious 
feeling,  full  of  danger  and  deceit,  unworthy  of 
fathers,  citizens,  men.  You  are  the  guardians  of 
the  community.  To  your  hands  she  has  com- 
mitted her  safety  ;  and,  with  such  a  feeling  in  your 
bosoms,  will  you  betray  your  trust?  She  has 
placed  you  as  sentinels  on  her  walls  and  at  her 
gates  ;  do  not  kneel  and  admit  the  foe  which  you 
are  sent  to  overcome.  Had  the  gaunt  form  of 
murder  stalked  in  unabashed  and  unintimidated 
amid  the  gayety  of  your  own  festive  board, — had 
your  startled  eyes  suddenly  beheld  him  vanish, 
and  lo !  the  brightest  seat  at  the  banquet  is  left 
vacant, — had  you  beheld  the  demon  who  had  thus 
bereaved  and  "made  you  desolate  for  ever,  stride 
unfearing  and  unabashed  through  the  midday 
streets,  triumphing  in  his  deed,  and,  perhaps, 
grown  bold  by  experience,  meditating  to  repeat  it, 
because,  forsooth,  the  shrinking  sensibilities  of  a 
too  sentimental  jury  could  not  harden  their  hearts 
to  arrest  his  career, — you  would  feel  as  you  ought 
to  feel  on  this  solemn  occasion.  The  hospitality 
of  friendship,  the  rights  of  society,  the  laws  of 
man  and  of  God  have  been  grossly  violated  by  the 
unhappy  criminal  at  the  bar.  The  perpetration  of 
the  deed  has  been  proven,  and  the  guilt  has  been 
fastened  upon  him,  as  far  as  human  proof  can  lead 
the  human  reason. 


250  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

"  The  gentlemen  on  the  other  side  harp  much  on 
the  idea  of  doubt.  It  is  doubt  which  is  to  bring  off 
their  wretched  client.  Their  only  hope  is  doubt. 
It  is  the  last  inevitable  refuge  of  the  defenders  of  a 
bad  cause.  If  they  can  make  you  doubt,  if  they 
can  entangle  and  cloud  over,  if  they  can  envelop 
in  mystery,  if  they  can  bewilder  you  in  doubt,  they 
fancy  their  triumph  secure.  But  you  must  dis- 
tinguish between  the  just  doubt  arising  from  a  de- 
ficiency of  evidence,  and  that  confused  sense  of  in- 
distinctness which  only  those  experience  whose 
eyesight  is  failing — between  the  doubt  of  a  firm 
and  of  a  foolish  mind.  Doubt  you  might  conceive 
on  every  subject.  There  are  not  wanting  meta- 
physicians who  assert  that  nothing  ever  was,  is, 
or  ever  can  be  certain.  You  may  doubt  the  evi- 
dence of  your  eyes  and  ears  ;  you  may  bewilder 
your  mind  amid  endless  mazes  and  metaphysical 
conjectures ;  you  may  doubt  that  you  sit  there  to 
judge,  that  I  stand  here  to  proclaim,  a  heinous 
and  a  hideous  sin ;  all  around  us  may  be  but  the 
phantoms  of  a  fever  or  the  forms  of  a  passing 
dream.  But  this  species  of  doubt,  so  equally  appli- 
cable to  the  most  feeble  and  the  most  overpower- 
ing proof,  is  not  the  doubt  which  becomes  your 
manly  souls.  The  cunning  of  a  persuasive  tongue 
will  not  be  able  to  betray  your  matured  under- 
standings into  such  childish,  such  fantastic  vagaries. 
Such  doubts  would  dispute  all  law,  all  justice. 
This  court  would  be  a  mockery  and  an  idle  farce ; 
vainly  would  wronged  misery  apply  here  for  re- 
dress ;  justice  would  be  but  the  theme  of  derision 
and  scorn.  The  ruffian  would  smile  at  the  uplifted 
sword  of  the  goddess,  which  her  degenerate  hand 
durst  never  wield,  till  men,  grown  once  more  wild 
and  savage,  and  knowing  no  other  remedy  for  pri- 
vate injury,  will  assume  again  the  reins  of  affairs, 
which  the  authorities  are  unworthy  and  unable  to 


NORMAN   LESLIE.  251 

hold.  A  Gothic  spirit  of  revenge  will  displace  the 
mildness  of  civilization ;  youth,  innocence,  and  de- 
fenceless beauty  will  yield  their  breasts  to  the 
dagger,  and  the  whole  mass  of  society  will  be  re- 
solved into  its  original  elements  of  anarchy  and 
discord.  < 

"No,  gentlemen,  in  your  characters  as  stern  and 
unyielding  sentinels  of  the  public  safety,  I  call 
upon  you  to  speak  the  dreadful  doom  against 
yonder  sinful  man.  He  has  sown,  let  him  reap. 
If  you  would  not  have  your  wives,  sisters,  mothers, 
and  daughters  murdered  before  your  faces,  speak, 
promptly,  fearlessly,  and  solemnly,  the  fatal  ver- 
dict. However  man  may  exclaim,  and  attempt 
to  affright  you  from  your  duty,  remember  the 
Almighty  himself  has  said,  '  Blood  for  blood!'" 

Again,  as  the  counsel  sat  down,  the  silence  was 
simultaneously  broken  by  a  wide  peal  of  applause; 
from  bench  and  floor,  pedestal  and  column,  wherever 
the  mighty  throng  of  human  beings  had  clustered 
and  pressed  themselves  densely  in  together,  came 
the  murmur  and  the  shock  of  approbation,  too 
plainly  announcing  the  public  sanction  of  the  pris- 
oner's doom.  Several  persons  were  committed 
for  this  breach  of  decorum. 

The  charge  of  the  judge  was  short  and  lucid, 
and  wholly  confined  to  the  evidence.  He  reviewed 
it  calmly,  and  instructed  the  jury  to  find  the  fact 
of  the  murder  according  to  their  opinion  on  the 
testimony,  with  this  reserve,  that  if  they  were 
"  not  fully  satisfied,  beyond  a  doubt,  they  must  find 
for  the  prisoner." 

With  the  necessary  formalities,  the  jury  were 
conducted  into  their  private  room ;  and  an  hour 
passed,  during  which  curiosity  kept  together,  prob- 
ably, every  individual  of  the  vast  multitude. 

At  length  the  court  prepared  to  adjourn,  and 


252  NORMAN   LESLIE. 

the  prisoner  had  been  already  ordered  back  to 
prison,  when  it  was  announced  that  the  jury  had 
agreed  upon  a  verdict*  There  was  a  hum  among 
the  concourse — relaxed  attention  was  again  sud- 
denly and  fearfully  roused.  The  jury  entered, 
silent  and  solemn  themselves,  amid  the  silence  and 
solemnity  of  all  around.  This  is  a  moment  of  ex- 
cruciating interest.  The  most  light  and  careless 
spectator  feels  it  drain  his  heart,  and  suspend  his 
very  being.  What  must  it  be  to  him  whom  one 
moment  more  is  to  plunge  into  eternity,  or  to  give 
back  in  triumph  to  life  and  happiness  !  Many  an 
eye  turned  upon  the  jurors  to  detect  in  their 
countenances,  in  their  gait,  in  some  casual  action, 
a  hint  of  that  mighty  secret  locked  in  their  bosoms. 
Many  an  eye  was  riveted  upon  the  face  of  the  pris- 
oner, to  study  how  he  bore  that  tremendous  mo- 
ment, how  humanity  stood  to  gaze  amid  life  full  on 
the  grim  and  spectral  features  of  death. 

The  names  of  the  jurymen  were  regularly  called 
amid  a  profound  silence.  Not  a  motion,  not  a 
breath,  disturbed  the  deep  hush.  The  clerk  re- 
quested the  prisoner  to  rise. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  look  upon  the  prisoner. 
Prisoner,  look  upon  the  jury.  Have  you  agreed 
upon  your  verdict?" 

«  We  have." 

"  How  say  you,  gentlemen  ?  Do  you  find  him 
guilty  or  not  guilty  V 

There  was  a  pause,  as  if  the  very  pulse  of  life 
stood  still.  It  was  thrilling  and  painful — all  leaned 
forward,  a  shuddering  sound  of  agony,  short  and 
checked,  broke  from  the  lips  of  Miss  Leslie.  All 
eyes  dilated  and  fastened  on  the  foreman,  except 
one  or  two,  who  looked  piercingly,  and  yet  with 
horror,  upon  the  face  of  the  prisoner.  At  that  mo- 
ment the  clock  tolled  three,  with  a  heavy  sweep  of 


NORMAN   LESLIE. 


sound  that  floated  in  quivering  waves  through  the 
hall.  Its  last  vibration  died  away,  and  the  foreman 
spoke. 

"  Not  guilty." 

"  God — God  1"  cried  the  sister,  with  a  shriek  of 
joy,  while  an  electric  shock  darted  through  the 
crowd,  and  broke  the  spell  of  silence.  The  prose- 
cuting counsel  started  up — the  clerk  repeated  it 
aloud,  with  surprise.  Moreland  clasped  his  hands, 
with  a  report  that  echoed  through  the  room.  Mr. 
Romain  covered  his  face.  Mordaunt  Leslie  raised 
his  hands  and  eyes  to  Heaven  in  silent  prayer. 

In  the  midst  of  this  sudden  universal  jar  and 
lively  commotion,  the  accused  stood  in  the  same 
attitude,  fixed  and  motionless — all  eyes  again  cen- 
tred upon  him. 

"  Norman !"  cried  the  sister,  with  an  hysteric 
laugh,  and  springing  towards  him — "  dear  Nor- 
man, hear  !  You  are  acquitted — you  are  guilt- 
less— you  are  free  !" 

But  the  youth  neither  stirred  limb  nor  feature. 
At  length  a  slight  tremour,  a  quivering  passed 
over  his  face,  a  shade  of  ghastlier  white,  a  faint 
sob,  a  convulsive  effort  to  laugh — and  he  fell  back 
senseless  into  his  father's  arms. 


END   OF   VOL.  I. 


VOL.   I. — Y 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 

1952 


AUG201952: 


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PNIVERSITY  OF  CA 

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